


Like Playing With Fire

by GoldBlooded, LeisurelyPanda, wilfling



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Peggy Carter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Boxer Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Chases, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Collaboration, Criminal Bucky Barnes, Criminal Steve Rogers, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fashionable Bucky Barnes, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Hate Sex, Identity Porn, Irish Steve Rogers, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Mafia AU, Mobster AU, Motorcycles, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Alternating, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rival Sex, Rival factions, Russian Bucky Barnes, Smut, Star-crossed, Strangers to Lovers, Switching, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Wall Sex, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Yeah you read that right, Zola is always fucking gross no matter what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldBlooded/pseuds/GoldBlooded, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda/pseuds/LeisurelyPanda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilfling/pseuds/wilfling
Summary: James is heir to his family's business, brought over from Mother Russia by his great-grandfather in 1917. In 1918, an Irish organization also moved to Brooklyn, a little too close for comfort. They've been rivals for over a hundred years, and it can get pretty stressful. Sometimes James needs to blow off some steam, and if a handsome stranger named Grant wants to do the same, James certainly isn’t going to say no.Steve, heir to the Irish family, has never met James Barnes. But they all know that he's an arrogant, dangerous enemy without honor, as evidenced by the way the Russians are crossing lines again. On the way to a 'meeting' between the two families, Steve doesn't spare his counterpart a single thought... because his head is swimming with a man named Bucky and the earth-shattering night they've just spent together.How will Steve and James cope when they find out they're sworn blood enemies? What happens when the 'meeting' is sabotaged by an unknown third party? Will the Irish and Russians be able to look past ancient, ingrained hurts for the sake of survival? More importantly, will Steve and James be able to ignore the ever-growing attraction between them?





	1. Guinness & Vodka

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our 2018 Stucky Alternate Universe Bang fic! We are so, so excited to share this with all of you. Our collaboration has been something spectacular, the likes of which we couldn't have imagined in our wildest dreams, which is saying something! We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we've loved working on it. <3 
> 
> This fic is Beta read by [chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who has no idea how valuable she is as a Beta, a human, and a friend. She is an outstanding person in every way imaginable. 
> 
> Many thanks to the StuckyAUBB Moderators for organizing this event, and bringing us together in a magical twist of fate.
> 
> Acknowledgements:
> 
> GoldBlooded: Thank you to Laney for everything from helping me brainstorm to having kitchen adventures to being a sounding board for fics. Thank you to LeisurelyPanda for always being so lovely. Thank you to Wilfling for being one of the most incredible people I've ever known. Thank you to Chicklette and FrostbiteBakery for being such rad and supportive humans. Thank you to Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Marvel for helping us be better. 
> 
> LeisurelyPanda: I'd like to thank my friend, GoldBlooded who proposed that we write this for the Stucky AU Big Bang in the first place. This story wouldn't have existed if not for her. I'd also like to thank Wolfie, who is amazing and his art is just gorgeous and inspiring and I can never get enough of it. Lastly, I'd like to thank my one true love, but Thor doesn't actually show up in this story, so I'll settle for Bucky Barnes, my other one true love for being a major source of inspiration in this story. <3
> 
> Wilfling: I want to thank to GoldBlooded and LeisurelyPanda for coming up with the idea for this story and for giving it their best. Within past few months we became close friends and I am forever grateful for that.  
> Also I´d like to thank to Joe Simon and Jack Kirby.  
> And Steve Rogers.

James Barnes leaned against the concrete wall of the bar behind him. He lit a cigarette, and breathed in the familiar, burning tendrils of smoke. He sighed as he blew it out, and Natalia’s disapproving reprimand that smoking would kill him danced through his mind. _Joke’s on her_ , he thought to himself as he took another drag. _People in my line of work don’t live a long life anyway_.

He was known to his family - which also happened to be one of the biggest and best-organized crime rings in Brooklyn - as Yasha. He was the son of the head boss and heir to the entire organization. Growing up in the mob made for a gilded (if constricted) sort of life. Sure, it could be dangerous, but there were a lot of perks. That being said, the job got to him sometimes. And just like every other schmuck, James supposed, he needed and deserved a night off every now and then...which was why he was leaning against the wall of his favorite bar.

Thor’s Hammer didn’t look like much from the outside, but James didn’t care about that. It ticked the important boxes for him: It was in neutral territory, so there was less chance of running into familiar faces from his (or rival) crews; it was one of the closest LGBT-friendly bars that happened to be _in_ neutral territory; they served his favorite vodka; and the clientele were all easy on the eyes.

He took one last drag from his cigarette before lifting his foot to stub out the butt on the heel of his boot. He checked himself in a nearby window to make sure he was still presentable, and was pleased with his reflection. The deep red button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves framed his broad, powerful shoulders and highlighted the intricate tattoos on his left arm. His black jeans hugged his thighs and ass in a way he knew from experience was mouth-watering, and the whole outfit lent itself to his confident swagger of a walk. He raked a hand through his hair, which was down around his shoulders (and oh-so-soft from the new argan oil conditioner he was trying,) and gave himself a rakish grin.

He let his confidence propel him to the entrance of the club and smiled at the bodyguard. The man took one look at his face and let him in, to the irate protests of the people waiting in line. James chuckled to himself as he walked through the doors and into the dimly lit atmosphere.

It was typical bar for the most part. Inside was a dance floor with enough flashing lights to make a normal person develop epilepsy, a bar with wood polished to a high shine, and several semi-private booths around the perimeter.

The dance floor teemed with young folks that, while his age, had nothing in common with him. Not that James cared; unless they were in the mob, regular people weren’t really all that useful to him beyond a good time and a decent fuck.

He walked up to the bar and ordered his favorite top-shelf vodka. It was, perhaps, stereotypical for a Russian, but James really did enjoy the flavor. He also enjoyed bourbon and beer, though admittedly less often.

The bartender wordlessly gave him the glass, which James nursed and savored. There was no one around to impress with a display of Russian machismo, so he intended to take his time. Besides, he was there hoping to get laid rather than wasted. He turned around to lean against the bar and scanned the room.

It was a typical Friday night crowd from the looks of things. Dozens of people were there escaping the stresses of work or school and letting loose. Their simple lives were something James would never really understand. Being born into an organization with notoriety across the five boroughs didn’t allow for that kind of easy monotony. The fact that he was able to get away at all that night was due to the brutal skill and efficiency with which he oversaw the work and crews in his charge.

 _What to do tonight?_ James mused as he eyed the people in the bar. Attractive people of all genders milled about or danced, and made deciding who to pursue somewhat difficult... but also exciting. He thought back to all his recent encounters and realized he’d only been with women recently. He was getting bored with the pattern; it was time to shake things up.

As his gaze swept the room, his attention caught on a man James had never seen at the bar before. He was… _wow_. ‘Sex on legs’ couldn’t come close to accurately capturing the guy’s allure. He wasn't dressed to attract attention; it was almost as though he was uncomfortable in the crowded atmosphere. Although, the blue t-shirt stretched thin over his broad, muscled shoulders and slim waist made it hard _not_ to see him.

As James was eyeing his potential conquest, the man turned and caught his gaze. He was baby-faced, with a smooth but strong jaw, and his gold-spun hair illuminated by the lights drew James in deeper. James didn’t avert his gaze, but smiled somewhat suggestively and raised his glass in a toast. The man smiled in a shy, almost demure way as he returned the gesture. It was too adorable for James to ignore, so he pushed off of the bar and sauntered over to the shy hunk.

He leaned in close so the stranger could hear him over the din of the crowd and music and asked, “Hey, what’s your name?”

As he pulled back to watch the man’s face and hear the response, James offered one of his debonair smiles that always seemed to work. Sure enough, the man’s gaze fell to his mouth before he glanced away shyly again. _He’s too much_ , James thought.

“S-- er, I’m Grant,” came the answer. “You?”

James concealed his surprise. ‘Grant’ was not what he would have guessed. But despite the unexpected, it only took him a split second decide on his own answer. “Call me Bucky,” he replied, using his college nickname. Nobody outside of a scant few people knew of it, and James didn’t like to be unnecessarily identifiable in his line of work. “Can I get you another drink, Grant?”

“I, uh, sure. Thanks,” Grant said, and chuckled nervously as he downed the rest of his glass.

James waved the bartender down and asked, “What’ll you have?”

“Guinness,” Grant said immediately.

“Good choice,” James replied with a grin. He ordered two and watched the bartender’s technique as she pulled the Guinness from the tap so that the head of each pint was perfectly frothy. “What do you say to a toast, Grant?”

“What are we toasting?”

“Well, I bought the drink. Surely a handsome guy like you can think of a reason,” James said as he grazed a hand along Grant’s muscled bicep. Up close, he could better appreciate how the tight shirt outlined the bulging  planes of Grant’s chest. Part of James just wanted to pull the man to the nearest hotel for a quick fuck so he could get his hands on that sexy body. The other, more prominent part of him, enjoyed the subtle dance of flirting and the thrill of the chase.

Grant thought for a moment, then grinned again. This one was rueful rather than shy, and it made a certain mischievous light dance in his adorable eyes.

“How about… to escaping,” Grant suggested, and raised his glass. James blinked before he gave a chuckle himself.

“Yeah, I’ll drink to that,” he said. Their glasses came together with a clank before they each took a long drink. “So what are you escaping, handsome?”

Grant ducked his head like he was blushing; it was both ridiculous and adorable that a man as attractive as he could be so bashful. James would almost be satisfied with _not_ sleeping with him just so he could tease the man for the duration of the night.

 _Almost_.

“Work, I suppose,” Grant replied.

“Oh? What do you do?” James asked.

“Um… security,” Grant said. “You? You look like you do well for yourself.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” James said with a grin.

“You, uh, you should,” Grant replied. The shy smile flashed across his face again and James had to resist the urge to reach out and trace that plump bottom lip with his thumb.

 _God, he’s going to kill me with that smile_ , James thought.

“I do importing and exporting,” James replied smoothly. “My family has a business shipping security systems across the world. It’s fairly lucrative.”

Grant whistled. “Family business, huh? Not too shabby. Same here, sort of.”

“Sort of? What, you come from a family of big, sexy bodyguards or something?” James asked, eyeing Grant. “I could see it. You’d fill out the uniform well.”

Grant chuckled. “Something like that, I suppose,” he said. “They’re all very proud of the whole thing.”

“Maybe sounds like you’d do something else if you could, though,” James pointed out.

Grant shrugged and took another sip. “I might, but no point dwelling on it.”

“Why? If it makes you happy, you should do it. To hell with what anyone else thinks.”

“Easier said than done.”

“So? If it was easy, anyone would do it.”

James ignored the fact that telling Grant to follow his dreams made James the biggest damn hypocrite in the world. He was also aware that ‘if it was easy, anyone would do it’ was a piece of advice he’d grown up hearing his father say to the family cronies, usually when they claimed a job would be difficult or impossible. George Barnes didn’t believe in such things. It also meant that James was constantly living up to an impossible standard.

Grant actually smiled at the remark, though. “Yeah, guess that’s true.”

“So what would Grant the Sexy Security Man do if he wasn’t a sexy security man?” James nudged.

Grant seemed to mull over the question for a while as he nursed his glass. James was almost about to move on to something else before the man turned to him. He seemed oddly nervous or embarrassed for some reason. James smiled warmly to encourage him to continue.

“I’ve... always wanted to be an artist,” Grant said slowly. James’s eyebrows rose and Grant sighed. “See? It’s dumb, like I said.”

“Who the hell said that?” James asked. “I think it’s great that you’d want to do something creative like that.”

Grant paused. “You do? I mean, I used to draw and stuff all the time until…”

“Until what?”

“Well, I was a scrawny kid,” Grant explained. “Got sick a lot, too. Seemed to have doctor’s appointments every month. But after I turned 19, I got this… just _massive_ growth spurt. Grew like, a foot, in the span of a year and bulked out to match. After that, I was just kinda shoehorned into the family business and the whole art thing stopped being something they were okay with.”

“Damn, that sucks,” James replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so it’s been a while. But I used to think about going to art school or something,” Grant said. “But now my family won’t pay for it, since it’s not masculine, or useful, or shit like that.”

James gave a humorless laugh and took a drink from his mug. It was a familiar line that he’d heard a lot, especially once he was deemed old enough to help with the “family business.”

“I used to want to be a professional dancer,” James confided. Grant looked up, surprised. “My family humored me as a kid, but eventually decided that it wasn’t dignified or appropriate.”

“I’m sorry,” Grant said. He reached over and brushed James’s knuckles with his. “It sucks.”

“Yeah, well, joke’s on them, I guess,” James chuckled. “I still go out to clubs and I dance as much as I want to, when I’m able.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Grant agreed. “I’ve uh… I’ve never told anyone about… that. So, thanks.”

“Guess I must be special,” James grinned. Grant laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Well, now you’re just a jerk,” he declared, though his voice lacked any real malice.

“Guilty as charged,” James chuckled as he rested his foot against Grant’s calf.

Grant glanced down, then back up to James’s face before he buried his face in his glass. If James wasn’t sold on the guy before, he was now. It was so easy - and so _fun_ \- to tease him. James couldn’t get enough of it.

Grant was also easy to talk to, and James found that they oddly related to each other. It made Grant dangerous, and it excited him. He preened as Grant not-so-subtly eyed his body, obviously appreciating the time and effort James had gone through to get ready for that night.

“My eyes are up here, doll,” James said. Grant’s gaze snapped up to his face before he saw the smirk.

“You don’t say,” Grant chuckled. “I get the feeling they haven’t exactly stayed there recently.”

“You don’t say,” James parroted with a straight face.

“Yeah, they’ve been checking me out for a while now,” Grant replied. “Not sure you got much room to talk.”

“Do you want me to stop?” James asked with a sly smile.

“If I said yes?” Grant asked. His foot reached out to mimic James’s foot resting against his calf. James glanced down at the outstretched leg. It was thick and muscled and James automatically imagined himself between Grant’s legs as he sucked the man off.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” James replied. “Do you?”

Grant paused for a moment before he smiled shyly again. “No.”

“Sounds dangerous,” James replied. “You don’t even know me. I could be a bad man.”

“ _I_ could be a bad man,” Grant countered. “And I could probably take you.”

James actually laughed at that. “No offense, but you don’t strike me as a bad boy.”

“Oh? And how do you know?” Grant asked as he arched an eyebrow.

“I’m a good judge of character. And I’m never wrong.”

“Call me crazy, but you don’t seem to be all that bad, yourself.”

“You’re crazy. But I appreciate the sentiment, which just helps prove that you’re not that bad of a guy.”

Grant blushed and glanced away. His small smile gave him a look as though that single comment meant more to him than any commentary James had about his physical attractiveness. James chased after it, reaching up with his hand to pluck an imaginary piece of lint from Grant’s hair. Normally, James wouldn’t spend this much time on someone before propositioning them, but Grant seemed… different.

“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” Grant remarked.

“If you insist,” James said. He downed the rest of his drink, savoring the creamy, bitter taste of the Guinness. “You want to join me for a dance?”

“Um, I don’t…” Grant trailed off before he swallowed nervously. “I can’t dance.”

James stepped closer and rested a hand gently on Grant’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, doll,” he purred. “I’m a good teacher. Won’t even mind if you step on my toes.”

Grant looked up at him. James could see the nervousness in his eyes, but also the excitement and maybe even desire. All James really wanted from Grant was to be able to touch him, to make him feel good, to show him a good time. The guy obviously needed it. Finally, Grant smiled and stood up.

“Okay.”

James smiled and took Grant’s hand to lead him onto the floor, heading straight for a open space where two big guys would be able to dance unencumbered. James never let go of Grant’s hand as he began to lead him in the dance.

He moved rhythmically with the beat of the music, patiently leading Grant, who turned out to be a quick study. After a while, Grant started moving more confidently. He wasn’t as smooth as James, but then, James had about a decade of formal dance lessons on him.

The music turned sensual and James stepped closer into Grant’s space. Grant looked surprised, but kept his hands well away from James’s body. _To hell with that_ , James thought. He grabbed Grant’s hands and pulled them down to his waist.

“Are you sure?” Grant shouted over the music.

“Do it!” James replied.

Grant didn’t need any more encouragement than that; his hands went straight to James’s hips, resting just above the curve of his ass. James hummed with approval and felt a thrill run through his body. Grant’s hands were large and sexy as hell. The only thing that would be better than this would be if their clothes were absent, so James could feel those hands glide over his skin, and feel the calluses leaving heated paths in their wake.

They moved in tandem with each other, coming closer and closer with each move of their bodies. James turned Grant around and ground against his ass. Grant threw back a surprised and joyous laugh as James wrapped his arms around Grant’s hot, hard body.

He could swear that he heard the man moan as his hands traveled up Grant’s chest. Despite the gap in experience, the dancing felt effortless.

James had no idea how long the two of them danced together. It might’ve been minutes, it might’ve been hours. If it _was_ hours, the fact that James had to get up early to secure a cargo shipment in the morning no longer seemed that important. Dancing with Grant was completely liberating.

Eventually, Grant turned around and stopped dancing. James stilled as well, just in time for Grant to kiss him. It was hot; the moment Grant’s lips touched James’s it seared through his body. His body burned like Grant was a goddamned sun, and James was _thisclose_ to the surface. One step and he would be consumed in that glorious inferno.

 _Fuck it_ , James thought. He kissed Grant back, holding his face and his body flush against his. His hands wandered down the hot, muscled expanse of Grant’s back until he reached the tantalizing curve of his ass.

When the night began, James had a vague desire to get laid. When he spotted Grant, it became a desire to get with him in particular. Now it was a _need_. James needed Grant.

Grant pressed up against James’s body, and James could feel his arousal.

“Fuck, Grant,” he groaned.

“Yeah,” Grant agreed. “So, uh…”

“So...?”

“B-bathroom? Or uh, your place or mine?”

James had a strict policy against bringing hookups home with him, both for their protection and his. Only trusted friends came back to his apartment in Brooklyn, at the heart of established Russian territory. It came complete with bought-off cops, top notch lawyers, and politicians who were satisfied enough with the family’s _generous contributions_ that they never had any trouble.

As much as James liked Grant and felt a kinship with him, the thought of bringing him into his space still made James uneasy. The family business was shady at best, dangerous at worst. Even though it was still family - the people who made sure nothing bad ever happened to him - they all seemed complicit in everything. Because of that, James had a compulsive need to keep these two areas of his life separate.

“Uh, I don’t really bring people back to my place,” he said. “Yours?”

“I’m a bit of a ways away from here,” Grant replied.

“I know a hotel nearby?”

“Perfect.”

James was thankful he didn’t have anything to take with them that wasn’t already on his person, because the only thing he wanted right now was to get the hell out of that club. They made a beeline for the door, and James laughed as they burst through and went from the sea of heat and sweat to the cool night air. Outside, under the light of street lamps and city lights, he marveled at Grant’s masculine beauty.

Honestly, the man was gorgeous. His skin was pale and tinged with pink, like he was flushed. Whether it was from the heat or the dancing or the alcohol, James didn’t know and he didn’t much care. Grant was incredible, and James kissed him again before leading him away in the direction of the hotel.

“You ever been to this place?” Grant asked.

“Once or twice,” James replied. “Nothing fancy, but it’s better than the bathroom.”

In truth, he knew several hotels like the one they were heading towards. James had a thing against fucking in bathrooms; it was disgusting. That, and considering his line of work, there was no reason why he couldn’t at least have sex in a bed.

“Fancy’s overrated,” Grant replied. James grinned back at him. It really was.

It was a 20-minute walk to the hotel in question. Though technically labelled a bed and breakfast, James couldn’t vouch for the breakfast, and felt the important part was the bed. As soon as they were through the door, James disconnected from Grant long enough to speak to the middle-aged woman behind the front desk.

“Evening, Grace,” he said warmly. “Could I trouble you for a room for the night?”

Grace glanced up at James and shrugged. “Yeah, there’s one left. Got yourself another hot young thing?”

“See for yourself,” James replied as he stood aside, letting Grace take a look at Grant, who was still blushing.

“Mmm-mmm-mm-mm-mm, hot damn! He’s too good for you, sugar,” she said as she clicked away on her keyboard. While she checked them in, James took off his heirloom ring and stashed it in his pocket, and began the process of taking his watch off, too. After a few more seconds, Grace held up a set of keys. “Room 7.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” James drawled, pocketing his watch and leading Grant away from the desk.

“Once or twice, huh?” Grant asked. James turned to see a teasing smirk on the man’s face. They walked hand in hand down the hall and up the stairs until they reached the room that was theirs for the night, anticipation buzzing between them all the while. Finally, James turned the key and stepped inside.

The room wasn't much: a queen size bed that would be snug after sex, an outdated mini-fridge, a small ensuite bathroom, and carpet that hadn’t been updated since the mid-‘90s. But Grace kept the place clean, and (as far as James knew) there weren’t bedbugs, the plumbing worked, and the water didn’t smell funny. It was good enough for the night.

“Shut up,” James replied, pulling Grant into another hot kiss. Since their first touches that night, nothing had cooled down in intensity, nor had the need to feel Grant’s body against his diminished at all. The need was ramped up ever higher. “I’ve got condoms. And I’m clean. Got checked a couple weeks ago. You?”

“I’m clean, too. Last went in a month back,” Grant said between kisses. “I also have condoms.”

“Good. Would hate to run out,” James murmured into Grant’s mouth, pulling at Grant’s sweat-damp shirt. Once off, he threw it haphazardly across the room. Grant struggled with the buttons of James’s button down, but eventually managed.

“Fancy bastard,” Grant growled.

“Impatient much?” James teased.

“Yeah, ever since you showed up at the bar,” Grant murmured. “God, I want you.”

“Want you, too,” James sighed as Grant started kissing his neck. He wrestled with the buckle of Grant’s belt and shucked both jeans and underwear to the floor. As it was freed, Grant’s cock sprang up so hard it smacked against his stomach. James’s hands immediately cupped Grant’s firm, beautiful ass. He squeezed and smiled as Grant moaned into his mouth.

“Please, Bucky…”

“How do you want this to go?” James asked.

“You… inside me.”

“Fuck, _yes_.”

James turned them around and shoved Grant onto the bed, which squeaked and groaned beneath the man’s weight, but neither cared. He descended upon Grant, hovering over him and kissing him hungrily. Grant’s hands fiddled with James’s jeans until they managed to undo the belt and get the pants down his thighs, where James kicked them the rest of the way off.

Grant wrapped a hand around James’s cock and gave an experimental squeeze. James moaned into Grant’s ear.

“That’s it, baby, yes,” he whispered. “God, that feels good.”

While James was distracted, Grand took the opportunity to flip them over and crawl down until he was eye level with James’s member. Grant looked up into his eyes and grinned before he wrapped his mouth around James’s cock. James moaned loudly as Grant sank down, taking him deep into that hot, wet mouth. All the while, Grant stared right into James’s eyes and _fuck_ if that wasn’t the hottest thing.

Just past halfway down James’s cock, Grant stopped and gagged a little. James reached down to run his fingers through Grant’s short, spiked blond hair and murmured encouragements.

“Fuck, so good,” James moaned. “God, don’t stop.”

“Not God, but sure thing,” Grant replied as he popped off. James’s eyeroll turned into another moan as Grant wrapped his lips back around James’s cock and started bobbing his head in a steady rhythm.

“Got myself a fucking comedian,” James sighed. Grant made a sound that seemed suspiciously similar to a chuckle, or as close to one as he could make with a mouthful of dick. James just groaned again and pet his hair. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

Grant hummed around the head of James’s cock, an the sound sent vibrations through his entire body. James managed to keep himself from arching up off the bed and thrusting deeper into Grant’s mouth, but barely. Instead, James fisted the sheets beneath him with one hand and tugged Grant’s hair with the other. The hair pulling just made Grant moan again as he sucked James’s cock down farther.

“You’re so good at this, baby,” James praised. “Feels amazing. Wish I could have you sucking my cock every fucking day.”

Grant popped off with a sound that was just obscene. He shot James a filthy grin with saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. He licked a long, sensuous stripe up the underside of James’s dick until he reached the head. One of Grant’s hands rose to run up and down the muscled side of James’s torso, feeling him up as he suckled the head.

“So fuckin’ sexy,” Grant murmured before he took James’s cock back in his mouth. James smiled down at him, and Grant wrapped a hand around the base of James’s cock and massaged it in tandem with his sucking. James moaned as he felt Grant’s tongue teasing along the veins on every upstroke.

James pulled him off when he felt himself starting to get close. As much as he’d like it to, the night wouldn’t last forever, and he didn’t want to come without getting to fuck Grant. James pulled Grant up so he was on all fours on the bed, and knelt behind him. He grabbed Grant’s ass and pulled the cheeks apart to view his beautiful, tight hole.

“Fuck, even your ass is pretty and pink,” James chuckled. He swore that the flush that covered Grant’s face had spread down to his torso and was slowly taking over his body. “Can’t wait to get my dick inside that.”

“Stop talking so much, then,” Grant growled. James kissed the small of his back, and a little above that, and every few inches until he could kiss the back of his neck and then his cheek. Grant turned his face to capture James’s lips in a kiss that was equal parts hot and desperate. It drove James wild and made Grant moan.

“Shh, baby,” James purred. “Gonna make this good for you.”

He hopped off the bed and went to the nightstand, opening the drawer to pull out a clear packet of lube. Grant’s eyebrows rose.

“There just _happens_ to be lube in here?” he asked. “Why?”

“You really want to know why the randy cougar downstairs keeps all the rooms stocked with lube?” James asked as he bent to grab a condom out of his wallet. Grant chuckled and James wasn’t sure it was possible for him to get more red, but he did.

“...Not particularly.”

“Thought not,” James replied as he got back down on the bed.

He opened the lube, squeezed a good amount onto his fingers, and pressed one to Grant’s pink hole. James teased it, and relished Grant’s moan beneath him as he dragged his finger around the rim. James’s other hand trailed up and down along Grant’s spine.

“Fuck,” Grant gasped. “Just put it inside me. Please!”

“Aw, you’re cute when you beg,” James murmured. He slowly pushed his finger past the ring of muscle and into Grant’s tight heat. Grant hissed at the intrusion, and James soothed him with slow caresses down his back. “Damn, baby, when was the last time you got fucked properly?”

“It’s, uh, it’s been a while, I guess,” Grant replied. “Haven’t been with many guys.”

“You just tell me if it hurts or you wanna stop,” James said.

Grant nodded and James pushed further in until he reached the last knuckle. He angled his finger until he found that spot inside Grant’s body, and grinned as Grant moaned and arched his back beautifully. James pulled his finger out slowly before pushing back. He dragged his finger over Grant’s prostate again, and Grant writhed beneath him. He was a beautiful, hot, trembling mess. It was intoxicating.

“I’m ready, give me more,” Grant moaned after a few moments, and James didn’t question him. He pressed another finger to Grant’s entrance and pushed inside. Again, Grant hissed at the stretch, but the sound soon gave way to sounds of pleasure, because two fingers always felt better than one. Grant even pushed back against James’s hand.

“God, look at you fucking yourself on my hand,” James moaned. Grant chuckled and James remembered what Grant had joked the last time James called him ‘god.’ James smacked his ass and Grant moaned, though that stupid, smug grin was still plastered to his face. James admonished him. “I was gonna say that you look amazing, but no, I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

“God forgives you,” Grant chuckled. James smacked his ass again, harder this time, and Grant gasped. “Sorry, guess I’ll stop being cheeky.”

James groaned. “I swear, if you weren’t so sexy, I’d get up and walk the fuck out of here.”

Both to regain the upper hand and because he knew Grant could take it, James pressed a third finger into Grant’s hole. Grant shuddered and made him pause for a moment before he could continue. When he was allowed to move again, James marveled at how well Grant took his fingers. He was panting and moaning, sweat dripping down his back and hands fisting the sheets as James slowly, patiently stretched his hole.

James could barely contain himself. He wanted nothing more than to pull his fingers out, wrap a condom around his dick, and push inside that tight ass. James may have been a lot of things, but an inconsiderate lover wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t going to before Grant was ready.

“Fuck, enough, Bucky,” Grant gasped eventually. “I need your cock. Just fuck me, please!”

James hummed in acknowledgement; his head wasn’t clear enough to form a coherent answer. He slowly pulled his fingers out of Grant’s ass, who whined at the loss. James ignored him as he deftly tore the wrapper off, wrapped the condom around his rock-hard dick, and lubed it generously.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, babe,” James whispered before kissing Grant’s temple. Grant shivered at the words. James slid a hand up Grant’s side to feel the hard muscles of his chest. Then James pressed the head of his cock against Grant’s entrance. He felt Grant tense slightly. “I got you. Relax.”

Grant nodded and took a breath. James pushed in slowly, breaching the tight ring of muscle, and moaned as his cock was enveloped in Grant’s hot, tight body. The feeling of Grant around him felt incredible. It sent sparks down his cock and up his spine, erupting like fireworks on the 4th of July.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” James swore, before remembering their ongoing argument. “Don’t even think about it, punk.”

“Can’t think ‘bout nothin’,” Grant gasped. “God, feels amazing, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop,” James promised as he pushed deeper into Grant’s tantalizing heat. _Probably couldn’t even if I wanted to_ , James thought to himself. He needed to be inside Grant, as deep as he could get, needed to feel the man around his cock. It was a struggle to take his time and not to just sheathe himself inside Grant all at once.

Finally, James bottomed out. He half laughed and half moaned at the feeling. He bent down over Grant’s body and kissed him between the shoulder blades. His hands stroked broad lines over Grant’s torso, running down from the man’s chest to his stomach, just above his groin. Grant sighed as he breathed deeply to adjust to being filled with James’s cock.

“Didn’t expect to feel so… full,” Grant said quietly. “Feels fantastic.”

James paused. “...Have you never bottomed before?”

Grant shook his head. “No, but I wanted to,” he admitted. “Is that a problem?”

James chuckled at that and kissed the man’s back again. “It’d be too late for it now, even if it was,” he said. “I’ll take extra care to make this good for you, then.”

“No complaints so far,” Grant said.

“Just let me know when you’re ready for me to actually fuck you,” James whispered against the shell of Grant’s ear. Grant shivered beneath him and James chuckled again. He loved how responsive Grant’s body was to him; he definitely planned on jacking off to this later.

A couple minutes later, Grant nodded and James began slowly rocking his hips. He tried to angle his thrusts so that his cock dragged against Grant’s prostate. If the way Grant moaned and arched his back against him was any way to judge, James was successful. He slowly started pulling out more and more, losing his rational brain in the tightness of Grant’s body as it clenched around him and moving purely on instinct.

“God, Bucky, harder,” Grant moaned. “More, give me more!”

James’s hands fell to grip Grant’s hips. He moaned and pulled out until just the head of his cock was inside Grant’s body and slammed back in. Grant shouted with pleasure. He reached back and grabbed James’s ass. James groaned as he fucked harder and deeper into Grant’s hot body.

“Fuck,” Grant moaned. “I-I’m close. Please.”

“I got ya,” James whispered. He snuck his hand around Grant’s waist and wrapped it around his hard, leaking cock. Grant moaned and pushed back against James even more as his ass clenched around James’s cock. James fucked Grant faster, harder, deeper.

“You gonna come?” James whispered. “You gonna come on my cock, the cock that’s fuckin’ you so good?”

“Y-yeah, Buck, I’m close!”

James tightened his grip and jerked him faster. Grant moaned loudly and turned his head back to kiss James. It was hot, open-mouthed, and loose. James’s other arm wrapped around Grant’s torso and pulled him flush against James’s body. Suddenly, Grant roared and clenched around James’s cock, harder than before. Grant’s cock pulsed in James’s hand as it shot his climax onto the sheets beneath them, and James kept fucking into him until Grant collapsed onto the bed with exhaustion.

James pulled out slowly and ripped his condom off. He jerked himself furiously, driving himself towards his climax. Grant rolled over onto his back, and James started to turn away before Grant stopped him.

“Wanna see you come,” Grant breathed. His eyes were half lidded and his face looked completely blissed out. It was gorgeous and obscene all at once. “Want you to come on me.”

“Fuck yes,” James groaned.

Grant managed to sit up. He ran his hands over James’s muscled body. They wandered over his chest and his arms, over the planes of his back. He traced the lines of James’s tattoo as if studying the technique even as he admired James’s body. James leaned over him and Grant started kissing and sucking at his collarbone. James moaned and arched his neck. Grant moved up, kissing and sucking marks onto the clear skin as he went.

“You close, baby?” Grant whispered against James’s skin.

“ _Fuck_ , fuck yeah,” James groaned. Grant reached down and wrapped a hand around James’s cock. James let go as Grant began jerking him off. Grant’s fingers twisted around the head so that James saw stars as he arched back. “More. Grant, Please!”

Grant hummed before he kissed him again. “Come for me, Buck.”

James came with a shout, his orgasm cresting over the edge as he shot his load onto Grant’s abs. Grant jerked him until James was nothing but a trembling mess in Grant’s arms. When James was done, he slumped down; Grant grunted and laid James next to him on the bed.

A moment later, James sighed as he stretched out. He barely had to move before he touched Grant. _Yeah, it’s gonna be a snug night_ , James thought, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“Damn,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Grant replied with a quiet laugh. “I needed that.”

“So did I.”

Grant rolled over and pulled James against him. _This is weird_ , James thought. He wasn’t one for cuddling after sex. Ever. But with Grant, it felt… _right._ While he enjoyed the moment in the present, James didn’t let himself imagine what it would be like to have more. That was dangerous, self-indulgent, and pointless. The only person he’d ever be was a criminal, a mobster, a ghost; he could only ever be with one of his kind.

James didn’t want any of the people he slept with to be involved with the mob. All of them deserved better, and these dalliances were just tastes of the outside world that James could never really have for himself. And Grant… Grant was different. He seemed like a good person, a genuinely decent guy. James didn’t want Grant involved with people like his family, ever.

“I gotta leave in the morning,” James said. _Idiot, you should get up and go now!_ James’s brain yelled. _What the hell are you waiting for?!_

“Oh,” Grant replied. “I mean, right, of course. I, uh, I gotta leave, too.”

“But…” James trailed off. _Don’t do it_ , he told himself. “Maybe we could… do this again? If you want?”

“I’d love to,” Grant said, and James didn’t have to look to see the grin on his face. “I mean… I really enjoyed this.”

James turned around and did something else he never did after sex: he kissed Grant. It was almost chaste compared to what they had done earlier, but it still burned him up. James could taste the passion lingering on Grant’s lips.

It was dumb - maybe one of the dumbest things James had ever done in his life. But it was also one of the nicest things James had ever felt. He had few enough nice things in his life. Lots of expensive things, lots of illicit things, lots of high quality things, but nice things? Nice things were a rare commodity.

He didn’t want to let this one go.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve rose early, as he normally did. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel sore, and counted it as a small blessing. He rose quietly so as not to disturb Bucky's sleeping form, though he did let himself glance down. He smiled at the way a few strands of dark hair blew across Bucky’s face with every exhale.

Steve felt a pang of guilt. They’d exchanged numbers before they fell asleep, and established the whole evening as mutually beneficial. But still. Steve couldn’t help but feel as though he’d used this charming, handsome man, especially since there could never be anything between them. His life as the son and heir of an Irish crime family forbade it.

Steve glanced at the clock on his phone. Maybe he would have time to see Father O’Leary before he had to meet his parents for the debriefing. Even if the prayers turned out to be empty words, it would at least feel nice to to pretend that he could still be forgiven.

He dressed as silently as possible, stewing all the while. He hated his life; every part of it seemed wrong. But it was also his family...the same family that killed an uncle years before Steve was born for daring to want a different life; one away from the sins and crime that the family reveled in. Steve grew up listening to that story, with the assurance that even though he was weak, he was expected to one day do his part. Hell, the only reason his family indulged his love of drawing was the possibility that he could learn to make forgeries one day.

Steve knew too well that the only way out was a bullet. From his dad, from the cops, or their rivals: the Russians.

He fingered the medallion of St. Jude around his neck, and decided to visit Father O’Leary on the way to the meeting.

He spared one last look at Bucky, the man who practically erased all of Steve’s fears and insecurities, and helped him forget how fucked up his life was for at least a few hours. _Maybe if everything goes well, I’ll text him_ , he thought.

It was stupid. Things like feelings and love and dreams were for fairytales, and this was the real world. As far as this dalliance was concerned - innocent as it may be - it was like playing with fire. The outside world was cold, and dreams never survived for long.

He closed the door softly and tip-toed away.


	2. Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity

Freshly forgiven and saddled with five Hail Marys, Steve walked the few blocks from the cathedral to the pub, trying to reconcile his sins with the fact that they were supposed to _be_ sins; what he had done the previous night didn’t feel sinful at all. In fact, it felt virtuous, being wrapped up with Bucky and consumed with pleasure. All of the earthly weights had been lifted off his shoulders, and he refused to believe that something so pure and rare could be wrong.

These thoughts carried him back to the family’s pub and into the car on the way to the meeting with the Russians. Steve floated in a pensive silence in the back of the plush SUV until they pulled into the Brooklyn Navy Yard and he snapped himself out of it.

The Navy Yard as a whole hadn’t operated in its original capacity for decades, but it didn’t stop the crafty and resourceful people of organized crime from taking advantage of the existing piers. The industrial development also added nice covers and hidey-holes that were beneficial for certain unsavory people and things. Steve’s family was hardly the only one who used it to traffick weapons and other illicit goods. It was one of the primary sources of their revenue, both for them and for the other families operating out of the area.

While being along the edge of Irish territory, the Yard had long been considered neutral. Irish, Russians, Yakuza, Wakandan War Dogs and others utilized the port, and it was an unspoken agreement that all parties honored the shaky truce. Do what you need to in the borough proper to take care of your business... but at the Navy Yard, you mind you own.

That was, until a few days prior when Father Joe - Steve’s actual father, the leader of the Rogers family and himself a formerly ordained priest - heard tell of a Russian crew intercepting a shipment that belonged to the Irish. What the shipment was, Steve didn’t know. What he did know was that this was a _problem._

The two large, blacked-out SUVs quietly drove past several piers before pulling up to an area wedged between a couple of warehouses. It was relatively quiet, and impossible to see from the main thoroughfares. It was both the perfect place to do business, and the perfect place for an ambush. It put Steve on edge, and his tactical mind started to come to life in preparation.

“Steven,” said Father Joe from his left.

“Mm?”

“You know why you’re here?”

Steve looked into his father’s face and took in the weathered, freckled skin, his graying sandy hair, the light ginger shine of his beard, and the hard blue of his eyes.

“To learn.”

“That’s right. I know you prefer spending money-”

And that wasn’t untrue but it wasn’t _fair_ either: the only thing about his family’s business that he could stomach was taking care of the people in their territory. Steve’s main job was making sure they could pay their heating bills, had enough food for their little ones, and got the medication they needed when they were sick. Say what you would about the Irish; that they were cold and xenophobic, that they were paranoid, or ruthless, say anything at all. But there was an irrefutable fact: the Irish took care of their own.

Steve made sure of that.

“-Dad-”

Joe held up a hand. “Yes, I _know_ doing good things costs money, but where do you think that comes from, huh? This-” and he gestured out the window to the pier “- Gives us the means to play patron saints of a third of Brooklyn. _This_ is the reason we’re able to take care of all those in our charge. The shipment the Russians took could have paid for a lot of meals, son.”

Steve felt uneasiness tug in his gut. “Yeah, I _know,_ but there are still better ways to finance what we do! Less risky, _legitimate ways_ -”

“I don’t have time for this argument again. They’re here.”

And so they were.

Three more dark, nondescript SUVs rolled up next to the warehouse. Steve and Joe got out of their vehicle, as did Dum Dum, Frenchy, and Monty from the one next to them. Several characters got out of the opposing SUVs, including a small red-headed woman, a guy with medical tape over the bridge of his nose and dirty blond hair, and the Big Barnes with a guy shadowing him that had a vaguely familiar presence.

Steve tamped his anxiety down. He’d never met George Barnes (formerly Barnsukov) or his son, James. He’d heard plenty from his father and from others in the Irish family who had: they were backstabbers, murderers, and opportunistic bastards that would offer help just as soon as they would stick a knife in you. Steve’s father still spoke bitterly about how his own father had been murdered by a member of the Barnuskov family. Though most didn’t know exactly what had happened, the story was family lore at this point. He may not know the finer details, but he knew enough to be wary.

The closer the they got to the Russians, the more Steve made out the details, made exit plans and strategies for keeping his people safe, and he clocked every face in the Russian party. The one next to Mr. Barnes himself took surprising shape, and Steve’s chest ached for Bucky. This stranger and Steve’s new lover had the same build, swagger, and long brown hair loose around the shoulders.

They even had the same sharp jaw, the same steely blue eyes, the same-

...everything.

Ice water poured itself down Steve’s spine, and he gaped at the man before him, the man he had been in bed with mere hours ago. The man he had delighted in, shared an incomparable experience with, that he had let _inside his body._ Bucky looked the same but so, _so_ different: gone were the teasing smirk and soft eyes, and in their place a cold, unfeeling soldier stared back.

Steve couldn’t process what he was seeing, it couldn’t be, there was no way it was-

“ _Bucky?”_

Bucky stared at him blankly, as if Steve was no more than a blade of grass in a field.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The world tilted and Steve felt more off-kilter than he’d ever done in his life. Shock spread through his system and the world came flooding back and he realized several things at once. His father was staring hard at him, as was Big Barnes, and all of their collected peoples; Steve was gaping; Not-Bucky still hadn’t shown him any interest whatsoever.

What the hell was even happening?

Steve closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “Uhm. Sorry, thought I knew you.”

In a tone dripping with condescension, Not-Bucky answered,  “Clearly you don’t.”

Steve glared even harder, willing a telepathing connection to tell him _what the actual fuck was happening._ Not-Bucky stared back, nonplussed.

Mr. Barnes broke the tension by saying, “Anyway, to business. Rogers.” And with a barely-there tip of his head, he acknowledged Father Joe.

“Barnsukov,” Joe answered, not moving a muscle in welcome.

Steve tried to brace himself. If his father went this hard right out of the gate, using the Barnes’ ancestral name and not adhering to social niceties, this meeting was about to go south _real_ fast.

A muscle in Big Barnes’ jaw twitched, and Not-Bucky’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Steve took the moment of silence to observe what he could about the two men and their obvious resemblance. Same height, same build, same dark hair. Though where Not-Bucky’s was long, Mr. Barnes’ was classically cut short, and graying at the temples. He also had light, green-grey eyes to Not-Bucky’s blue-grey, with a scar bisecting an eyebrow and extending down his temple on one side.

“I know why _we’re_ here, care to share why _you_ are?” Barnes asked.

Joe’s eyes flashed. “I came to see a guy about a missing shipment.”

“Funny. Us too.”

“We gonna talk this out like gentlemen?”

“That’s the plan,” Barnes said. “Actually, I’ve got my lieutenant here, learning the ropes.”

Joe finally tilted his head. “Funny. Me too,” he said, twisting Barnes’ own words.

There was a tense moment before Barnes spoke. “I wanna give my protege a shot at smoothing things over. He’s a lot better with people than I am. More...patience.”

Steve had the distinct feeling that Barnes didn’t mean Not-Bucky’s conversational skills.

Father Joe turned to look at Steve, one eyebrow arched expectantly. Steve knew that look - it made him recall the conversation with his father the previous day. Steve was told that Joe knew where his own strengths were, and Steve’s too, and that Steve was the best strategist they had and needed to use those skills more for the benefit of the family. Steve didn’t want to do that, and said as much, but his father disregarded him. The whole talk had frustrated Steve to the point of seeking solace at Thor’s Hammer.

Without waiting for an answer from Steve, Joe turned back around and shrugged a shoulder. “Only if I can send in my own lieutenant.”

Barnes bobbed his head in acquiescence. “Fair’s fair.”

Father Joe motioned to the empty warehouse next to them, and Steve and Not-Bucky moved at the same time.

“Yasha,” Mr. Barnes called. Not-Bucky turned around, Big Barnes said something in Russian, and then Not-Bucky barely glanced at Steve and kept walking.

If he hadn’t made up his mind already, that would have done it. First order of business?

Steve was getting some goddamn answers.

 

* * *

 

James woke rested and truly satisfied for the first time since he could remember.

He stretched luxuriously in the bed that now felt endless without Grant’s beefy body next to his. That thought was both disappointing and liberating; part of him had been hoping for a quick round of morning sex. But if he was honest with himself, that wouldn’t have been possible with the scheduled meeting. Normally, James would feel an empty sort of hollowness the morning after a one-night stand, but not this time.

This time, it wasn’t going to be one night only.

The thought was reckless, and scary, and so incredibly thrilling it had him grinning up at the ceiling, naked and tangled in the sheets.

Supposedly, there was a waiting period to text somebody after sleeping with them, but James couldn’t give a shit. After the meeting with the Irish, he was gonna text Grant and ask him out on a real date. He’d go all out, too: a reservation at Marco's, in neutral territory, and see if he could talk the sommelier out of one of the bottles in Marco's basement, something really special. Perhaps they could see a show afterwards. The classics were classics for a reason, after all, and James wanted to show Grant just how charming and classy he could be.

That thought - both dangerous and exuberant - had James floating on a cloud for the next hour and forty-two minutes. He didn’t even mind his father’s boorish and threatening demeanor that kept his goons in line as much as he normally did. Clint and Natasha clearly knew something was up, but he would tell them about it later.

One hour and forty-three minutes later, the Irish entourage emerged from their vehicles, and a body that James had just spent the night worshipping and learning the shape of stepped out of one of the SUVs.

His first instinct was to reject the idea it was Grant, but upon seeing the uneasy way he held himself - just like at the bar before James talked to him - James’ whole brain fried. Grant, pure and shy Grant, funny and sweet Grant, righteous and noble Grant, _his Grant,_ was standing at the right hand of Father Joseph Rogers.

James’ mind couldn’t handle it and shut down. He felt himself dissociate, float somewhere nearby and watch the proceedings. He clocked the exact moment Grant recognized him, and when Grant was finally able to pull himself together. He looked twitchy and uneasy, which was never a good sign at one of these rendezvous.

James watched with disinterest as his dad and Father Joe traded barbs. His dad volunteered him to sort things out, which meant it was about to get violent, and he dissociated further. Being the clean-up guy was no job for somebody who couldn’t block it out, especially since the next person he was going to have to clean up was Grant.

If James had been in his own body, he would have felt Bucky’s heart break.

The two men entered the quiet warehouse, and James followed Grant into an office of some kind. The place was dusty and deserted, but the additional walls would help mitigate any chance of overhearing anything - thus giving the people outside plausible deniability.

Grant turned on him. “Bucky, what the hell?”

James just stared at him. “Where’s the shipment?”

Grant’s brow furrowed. “Shipment, what shipment? Where’s _our_ shipment?! Bucky, what the fuck is going on-”

“Bucky isn’t here.”

“What do you _mean_ Bucky isn’t here, he’s _you!”_

James’ patience was starting to wear a little thin. “Bucky doesn’t exist. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Where is the shipment you stole?”

Grant growled in frustration. “If I call the number in my phone, the one that _you put in there_ as ‘Bucky,’ would your phone ring?”

James watched Grant, and for the first time since he’d learned how, his dissociation started failing him. In increments, he felt pieces of himself return. Seeing Grant’s pained blue eyes, the earnest heartbreak on his face, the terror and frustration brought him back and grounded him in the most painful way possible.

Quietly, James admitted, “You don’t really know me.”

Grant huffed. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Security,” James accused.

“Imports and exports,” Grant countered.

James shrugged, and they stood at an impasse. “Listen, we’ll have to figure this shit out later. What did you guys do to the shipment you took?”

Grant became frustrated again. “We didn’t _take_ any shipment, _You_ took ours.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, are we in kindergarten? What the fuck is wrong with you?” James demanded.

Grant backed up, face clear of emotion but eyes sad. “I spent the best night of my life with someone incredible, and it was a lie.”

A lump gathered in James’ throat, and he tried to swallow it down. He croaked, “Me, too.” Grant looked at him with eyes full of hope, and this time James felt it when his heart broke. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re the enemy. You’re the problem. We can’t _ever_ do that again. They will _kill us._ You’re Irish. You’re without honor.”

Grant’s expression immediately shuttered. “Yeah. Takes one to know one. Who the hell are you, _really?”_

“My name is James Barnes. I’m also known as Yasha, and the-”

“-Winter Soldier.”

James looked up at Grant, and saw his blank expression had turned to one of disappointment. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. Didn’t think the stories were true.”

“They are. All of them, and more.”

“Then you’ve done a lot of bad stuff.”

“Yup.”

Grant scrubbed a hand over his face, seemed to come to a decision, and pulled himself up to his full height. “You know what? I’ll deal with you later. Just give me the info on the missing shipment.”

The pure authority in Grant’s voice would normally turn James’ spine to jelly in a very good way, but in this case. it pissed him off.

“ _‘Deal with me later?’_ Go fuck yourself, Grant,” James spat.

Grant growled and pushed James back against the wall of the office. “My name is Steve Rogers.”

James couldn’t help the hollow laugh. “So you’re the one they call the sainted ‘Captain America.’ Although, shouldn't it be ‘Captain Ireland?’”

Steve grabbed James’ shoulders in a vise grip, and James had enough. He broke the hold and unsheathed the knife in his boot, and spun so Steve was against the wall with the tip of James’ tanto blade poking the delicate skin of his throat.

Steve glared at him, and lightning quick grabbed James’s arm and twisted it hard enough to make him drop the knife. James drew another one, and lunged. Steve deflected and twisted so James’ back was against the wall once more, the arm with the knife pinned at the wrist.

“Give Me. The information,” growled Steve.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Steve’s face became thunderous and determined, and he opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance.

In a blazing fury of white light and brutal force, the world around them exploded.


	3. Can't Fight the Friction

The first thing that hit Steve’s awareness was the loud, incessant ringing in his ears. He groaned as he opened his eyes, feeling more than hearing it. It took a moment for his vision to clear, and for his brain to process that... _something..._ had happened.

The office where he and Bucky James had been fighting was in a shambles, with dirt and debris strewn across the floor. The tattered furniture lay upended, and papers and books were torn, singed, and scattered everywhere.

He slowly rolled over and sat up. His vision didn’t swim and light wasn’t overly bright to him. He also didn’t have nausea or dizziness, so he counted himself lucky that he probably didn’t have a concussion. He looked down at James to check on him, alarmed at how still the other man lay. Steve pressed his fingers to James’ throat and sighed with relief when he felt a pulse.

 _Stop that_ , he thought. _This isn’t Bucky. You shouldn’t be glad that he’s alive._

Against his better judgement, a small part of Steve was still relieved. Whatever happened between them couldn’t be erased, as much as James seemed to insist that it had to be.

With their survival confirmed, Steve got up. In two long strides he was at the door and pulling it open… except it didn’t budge. He tried pushing against it, but the door didn’t give so much as an inch. He growled in frustration and kicked it, but it remained unmoved.

“Ugh, keep it down, will ya?” James muttered from the floor, rubbing his temple.

Steve scowled down at him. “Get up.”

“Or what?” James demanded, shooting a glare at Steve as he sat upright. “We’re trapped, aren’t we? Not much you can do to me at this point.”

Steve paused, angry and stubborn, but eventually spoke.  “If you want to get out of here anytime soon, I need your help.” The words felt like acid on his tongue.

James gave a wry laugh at that. “The mighty Captain America asking for help from the honorless Winter Soldier,” he drawled. “Finally, something spoken by a Rogers that isn’t  lies and slander.”

Steve bristled, but didn’t rise to the bait. “The door seems to be blocked.”

“Maybe they should call you ‘Captain Obvious’ instead. Your explosion must’ve caused debris to fall in front of it.”

“ _My_ explosion?” Steve demanded. “ _We_ didn’t plan for anything like this!”

“Well, it clearly wasn’t us,” James growled back. “Unless you think that they’d turn on me so quickly just to get a chance at killing you and your son of a bitch father. Everyone knows that your entire family can’t be trusted as far as they can throw you!”

Steve squared himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s rich, coming from the likes of you,” he countered. “Your family is full of murderers and thieves who only care about making a quick buck. You would sell your own mother if the price was right.”

James’ face contorted in anger, and he shoved Steve. Steve clenched his jaw and shoved him back. They grappled against each other, both trying to gain the upper hand but too evenly matched in strength. Steve saw red. This man, this… _Russian_ , made his blood boil. He couldn’t stand the touch; it burned against Steve’s skin like a brand. It was infuriating.

It also reminded him of the night before, when James’ rough calluses had been so gentle and pleasurable mere hours before. Now they were digging into his flesh with intent to harm, and the difference made Steve even angrier. They struggled for several long moments before Steve roared and pushed James back against the desk. James’ footing gave and he fell back onto the desktop, and Steve loomed over him.

“Give up,” Steve growled. “I’m stronger than you.”

“Is that what you think?” James said with a cruel grin, as he head-butted Steve and kicked him away. Steve didn’t have time to think before Bucky righted himself with another knife drawn. _Where does he keep all these?_ Steve wondered. He crouched into a defensive stance, keenly aware that without a weapon against someone like James, he would need to end this quickly.

James lunged and Steve dodged to the side. James flipped the knife to a reverse grip and Steve ducked the slash. Steve went for the arm holding the knife, but James parried out of the way and deftly tossed the knife over to his other hand. He tried to stab Steve again before Steve blocked the strike at James’ wrist. Steve kicked him in the stomach and James stumbled back as the wind was knocked out of him.

Steve pressed his advantage before James could recover. He punched James in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Steve stood over him, kicking the knife away before James could grab it again.

“So,” Steve . “Whatcha gonna do now without your toy knife?”

“You’re a little bitch,” James spat.

Steve knelt down and grabbed him by the collar. “Say that again.”

“You’re a little bitch...and a self-righteous asshole.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s not what you said last night,” James taunted.

Steve sucker punched James in the nose, and they grappled for a few minutes longer until something between them shifted.

One moment he was kneeling over James with a fist raised, and the next their lips were crushed together. It was hard and vicious, and there wasn’t any of the gentleness of the previous night. Steve’s entire body felt like an inferno and even though the situation was brutal, he remembered how he had enjoyed touching Bucky.

This wasn’t Bucky, though - it was an imposter wearing the same face. That thought just pissed Steve off even more and he grabbed James’ wrists and pinned them above his head.

“Jesus, that all you got?” James breathed. His face was smug as he looked up at Steve with blown pupils.

“You’re a fuckin’ jerk,” Steve growled, and James just laughed.

“Oh god, I’m so hurt! The mighty Captain America called me a jerk! Whatever will I do?”

Steve shut him up with another kiss, and James gasped against his lips. Steve groaned and pressed his hips down. They were both hard, and their erections dragged against each other, sending pleasure coursing through Steve’s body. He bit back a moan, since the fact that this was happening at all was alarming. He both loathed and craved this man’s touch...he couldn’t stop himself.

They were pressed chest to chest as their bodies moved against each other, hot and desperate. James tried to flip them over, but Steve pinned him down even harder. James looked up at Steve with a dangerous smirk and blazing eyes.

“You just gonna sit there or are you gonna do somethin’?” James egged him on. Steve gripped James’ wrists to bruising before releasing them to hastily unzip his pants. Steve pulled his cock out before doing the same to Bucky, then spat on his palm. He wrapped it around their cocks and began to thrust, rubbing himself against James, but apparently it wasn’t enough. “Is that all you’ve got, Rogers?” James demanded.

“It’s all you’re gonna get, _Barnes_ ,” Steve growled.

The name was like poison on his tongue, bitter and foul. It reminded Steve of what _they_ had done. First, the Barnes family had stolen the shipment that brought Steve’s own family to the Navy Yard. Next, they sabotaged the negotiations. Steve had no idea if his father was still alive, if his personal crew among the Irish were all right, or what even happened. But there he was, rutting on the floor of a warehouse with their enemy, a slave to his passions and the man that personified them. A small part of him hated what they were doing. The larger part spurred him on.

James struggled against him, again trying again to flip them over and gain the advantage, but Steve held him down. He jerked his hips roughly against James’. The usual grace and finesse Steve brought to the bedroom was abandoned in favor of savage efficiency. It was raw, it was awkward, it was painful, and Steve _needed_ it.

Beneath everything was hate and anger. He knew better than to hope, than to pretend that something as beautiful and pure as Bucky could’ve been possible for someone like Steve. But he fell into the trap anyway. He was weak.

Even worse, what lingered deepest was a dangerous, insidious emotion. A sliver of affection remained despite everything that happened that morning. The memory of Bucky’s touch on Steve’s skin; the way Bucky gripped Steve’s hips, how his body felt pressed against Steve’s; how it felt to let Bucky inside his body until it sang with pleasure all swirled deep within Steve’s heart, spurring him on.

Steve had slept with several people, both men and women. Some were good, some were better off forgotten, but no one had ever made his body _feel_ everything the way Bucky had. Even now, moving with him harshly, despite the pain and danger, Steve felt more pleasure than he ever had with someone else. It was hard to remember that Bucky was James Barnes.

“Harder, Rogers, put your fucking back into it!”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve panted, but he jerked their cocks even faster and tightened his grip around them. James made a sound that was halfway between a moan and growl, and clutched Steve’s biceps in an iron grip.

“God, I’m gonna come,” he gasped. Steve barely acknowledged the words, and felt his own orgasm forming in the pit of his stomach. James’ face was frozen in a look of anger and arousal, and Steve could only assume that it mirrored his own expression. A moment later, James groaned through his teeth. Steve felt his cock pulse and James came over his fist onto his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up.

Steve let go of James’ oversensitive dick and jacked himself furiously, not bothering with any of the usual things he did to get himself off. James just stared up at him, anger and arousal still glimmering in his eyes, fully transfixed on him. Steve smirked down at James in spite of himself, and came with a breathless moan he couldn’t help. Their come mixed on James’ chest, and Steve let out a shaky breath as he slumped, finally spent. His hold on James’ wrists finally relaxed, and in his post-orgasmic haze, he was dimly aware that James didn’t move, even though Steve had given him the perfect opportunity to strike.

Steve knew his guard was down. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

The two of them breathed deeply for a moment before Steve finally shifted and stood. He wiped his come-covered hand on the back of his pants and put himself away. James sat up and did the same, except he took a handkerchief out of his back pocket. Steve scoffed.

“What, you just carry that around with you?” he demanded.

“ _Some_ of us are civilized,” James replied archly as he wiped the come off his stomach. Steve felt his spent cock twitch at the thought of his come marking James’ skin and was a little disappointed that it was wiped away. James tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. “We are never speaking of this again.”

Steve just sighed. Of course, James was repeating what he’d said before. That his vow hadn’t even lasted half an hour didn’t escape Steve, but this was hardly the time to think about that.

“How do you suggest we get out of here?” James asked as he stood. “You’re supposed to be some tactical genius or something, right?”

Steve shrugged. “If something is blocking the front door, then that means that something fell in front of it.”

“Captain. Obvious.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?” Steve demanded. James held up his hands, but the smug look on his face did nothing to placate Steve’s temper. He let out a breath and reviewed what he knew about the layout of the warehouse.

The office was in a corner on the ground floor. If they had bothered to go all the way up to the head manager’s office, they would’ve had to go upstairs, which might’ve been damaged or collapsed in the explosion.

“This office is on the northwest corner of the building,” Steve said. “That means the back wall and the one to the right are connected to the outer walls of the warehouse.”

“So we go out there?” James asked.

“No, the exterior walls are reinforced and harder to break through. Our best bet is the left wall.”

“That’s your plan?” James asked. “Just punch your way out?”

“You got a better idea?” James paused for a moment and shook his head. “Good. Let’s get started.”

 

* * *

 

It took a lot longer than James thought to break through the wall. As strong as he and Steve were, a wall was still a wall. The only tools they had were broken pieces of furniture and their own bodies, and it turned into as good a workout as any that he’d had recently. They smashed through the drywall between two studs, trying to clear enough between the eighteen inches for their bulky bodies to fit through without getting maimed by construction materials.

When the hole was _almost_ big enough to get through safely, the ceiling above them began to creak and then fell a few inches. They both froze, watching the roof shudder intensely. James looked at Steve, whose face had remained in that hard, tactical look since they’d begun working. It was kinda hot, if he was being honest.

“It’s not gonna hold much longer,” Steve said. “You get out first.”

 _“Me?”_ James demanded. Steve scowled at him and James felt himself flush.

“Yes, you. Go now,” Steve ordered. James set his jaw and gave it a shot. It was big enough, barely, and the jagged edges of the drywall and at least one nail tore at him. James managed to squeeze through and turned around. Steve was right behind him, but he was only halfway through the wall when the room began to tremor.

“I can’t get through,” Steve gasped. His broad shoulders were wedged sideways through the studs, and James could see a nail tearing into his shoulder. Steve tried to pull back and James felt a rush of panic form. He looked up at the ominously low ceiling, and from the outside he could see the beam pressing across the top of the office, waiting to smash through like a hot knife through butter. It was a wonder it hadn’t caved in while they were… previously occupied.

But he couldn’t think about that now. He _wouldn’t_ think about that.

Steve kicked at the wall, trying to make the hole big enough for him to get through, but it was awkward and ineffective from his position, stuck as he was. James surged forward, desperately pulling at the jagged drywall near Steve’s giant biceps. He wanted to shout for Steve to come through, to get the fuck out while he could. Instead, he just kept clawing at the opening with raw fingers. The panicked silence was deafening.

They had made a scant amount of progress, getting Steve only a few inches further when the room began to quake. James looked up in terror. The ceiling dropped a several inches on one side, letting loose a wave of rubble.

“Go!” Steve shouted. “Get out of here!”

Logically, he knew that since he was expected to kill Steve, and this was the perfect chance. It was the easiest thing to do, and he would be able to say with honesty that Steve died in an accident, another casualty to a tragic event at the docks. By all accounts, it would be the smart decision.

Who knew? Maybe his father would even be proud of him.

Well _fuck that._ He didn’t want to do the type of things that would make George Barnes proud of him. Instead, he rushed forward and grabbed Steve’s forearm.

“No, not without you!” he shouted. “You’re not fucking dying here, you punk!”

It was the dumbest fucking thing that James had ever done in his dumb fucking life. Risking himself to save this, this… _Rogers…_ made no sense. Yet he pulled, straining against the wooden studs, getting Steve’s stupid wide shoulders a few more inches through the opening.

“What are you doing?!” Steve demanded. “There’s no point in both of us dying!”

“Shut up! I don’t answer to you!” James shouted back. “Now are you a stubborn fucking Irishman or _aren’t you?!”_

It did the trick. Steve’s face set into a mask of determination, and he started shifting his shoulders as James kept pulling desperately. The ceiling fell another couple inches, including a cascade of dust and rubble that had them choking, but they were _almost there._

They both shouted and strained against the wooden studs one more time. The beam crashed through the roof, splitting the supports and knocking the studs loose, and they were flung to the floor outside. Before James could breathe, he scrambled to his feet and pulled Steve up with him, away from where the office was in its final throes of demolition.

They stared down at the rubble of their close call and gasped for breath, and James looked over at Steve. Aside from a few scrapes and scratches, he seemed fine.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Yup,” Steve agreed, and then just _had_ to state the obvious one more time. “You didn’t let me die.”

James looked at him incredulously. “It’s early yet. You always a dumb fuckin’ punk like that? Sending someone ahead to leave you behind?”

Steve blushed. “What kind of man would I be if I led my men into chaos and didn’t have the balls to stick it out myself? Not a very good one.”

James stared at him incredulously. Seriously, _how_ had this guy survived as long as he did?

“I don’t know what your old man taught you,” James said, “But mine always said that being smart was better than being brave.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Sounds like my father, too.” Steve replied. “‘How’s a leader going to lead, Steven, if he’s dead?’ Never did listen to him about that.”

“And it’s never come back to bite you in the ass?”

“When it did, I took care of it. I can handle myself.” James stared at the guy in amazement as he dusted himself off. He couldn’t decide if this guy was the personification of Irish luck or just the biggest dumbass in the five boroughs. Probably both. “We should get going,” Steve sighed, pulling James back to the present.

“ _We?_ ” James asked, his magnanimous mood vanishing in the face of stupidity. “Yeah, that’ll look great. The heir to the Russian family returning with the heir to the Irish. What am I, your prisoner? Is that why your family set this whole thing up?”

Steve growled, but it seemed more from exhaustion than frustration.

 _Same, dude_. James was tired and he really didn’t feel like fighting Steve again. They were pretty evenly matched when they both were fresh and had lots of energy. Now they were exhausted and would resort to whatever they had to do in order to survive. It could get messy, literally.

“I told you already,” Steve stated tersely, “My people aren’t responsible for this!”

“Well, what the fuck happened, then?” James demanded, stepping into Steve’s space. “Because _my_ people sure as hell didn’t do it and if they were planning to, I’d have known! Would I have led you to a building where I could’ve gotten crushed myself if that was the plan? I could’ve just left you there, you know! Big fuckin’ thanks I get for that, you asshole.”

Steve glared back at him before something shocking happened. His face fell and he stepped back.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Thank you.” Steve said.

James blinked. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“I said you’re right...” Steve replied with a flush. “You could’ve let me die there, but you saved me and I didn’t even thank you. I guess... I owe you one.”

Huh. _How about that?_ James thought. Having Steve Rogers owe him a favor might come in handy, if Steve was different from the rest of his ilk.

“Believe me, I’ll collect on it,” he said. “I don’t forget my debts. Or my debtors.”

Steve set his jaw in that sexy, determined way that made James want to drop to his knees. With considerable effort, he pushed that thought from his mind... even though Steve had a beautiful cock that was absolutely made to get sucked. _Dammit_.

 _There’s not gonna be a next time_ , he reminded himself. Last night was a fluke. Today was… under extenuating circumstances. It _wouldn’t_ happen again.

Steve pulled James out of his thoughts once more. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve said.

James nodded, cleared his throat, and turned away to hide his flush. “Right, now we have to figure out a way to get out of here.”

“Well...the main blast might have breached the exterior warehouse walls,” Steve said. “Maybe we can find an opening big enough.”

“Or we could try the front door,” James replied, pointing towards the door that was knocked askew.

“That’s too dangerous. If this was on purpose—”

“It wasn’t,” James cut in.

“Really?” Steve asked. “This isn’t a clichéd movie. Gas pipes don’t just leak and explode. Might not have been the Irish, _or_ the Russians, but _someone_ planned this.”

James shrugged. “Yeah, well, we still have to get out somehow,” he pointed out. “And if not the front door, then where?”

“Follow me,” Steve said.

When they got to where they were going, James’s stomach plummeted and he eyerolled super hard. “You have _got_ to be kidding me. I thought you said this _wasn’t_ a clichéd movie.”

Steve shrugged apologetically. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t the safest way out of here. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“Uh huh.”

Steve’s plan, the madman, was to drop into the sewers from a manhole hidden around a corner from the eastern entrance to the warehouse. Apparently, warehouses count as industrial spaces and they all need a way to dispose of waste water effectively. Steve just walked right up to a drain that would lead them out.They’d follow the tunnel and come up about a half mile away to avoid any potential pursuants.

“How did you even know this was here?” James asked.

“I saw some blueprints in the office,” Steve said with a shrug. James looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Steve’s telling Irish flush returned. “I have photographic memory.”

 _Of course he does_.

“Well, you and your photographic memory are going to pay my outrageous dry cleaning bill after this.”

“Is that the favor you’re calling in? Or is the favor saving your life?”

“Forgive me if I don’t swoon,” James said, unashamedly leering at Steve’s biceps as Steve pried the manhole cover up with a random crowbar.

“Quit whining and get in,” Steve said, shoving the cover aside James heaved a sigh, silently cursed his life, and climbed down.

It was just as bad as he thought it would be. He tried not to think about what his shoes were stepping in, how much they cost, or the fact that he was in a fucking _sewer_.

“Tell me you also happened to glance at some city maps and that you know where this goes,” James said through the hand over his mouth. Both he and Steve pulled out their phones to use as flashlights, and the view did nothing but make the situation worse. James immediately decided to _never_ look down.

“As it happens, yes. This way,” Steve replied, and started walking off.

James followed. “What’s this way?” he asked after a couple minutes, trying to distract himself.

“This line runs down Carlton, ends a block from Fort Greene Park.”

That was good: Clinton Hill was neutral territory, and they had a much lower chance of being spotted there than in their own territories. They walked in silence, their adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion and disgust setting in heavily. After what could have been minutes or hours of trudging through shit water, the sewer ended, and they stared up at the manhole to freedom.

“Does it come up on the street or the sidewalk?” James asked warily.

Steve started climbing the ladder and braced his shoulder against the iron. “Guess we’ll find out.”

On the street, as it happened, situated near the corner in a no-park zone. Irish Luck indeed. They climbed into the blinding daylight, replaced the manhole cover, and tried to get their bearings.

“Where to from here?” Steve asked.

James shrugged and looked around. “Guess we split up, go back to our respective families.”

Steve nodded. “Bucky...” he started.

“I’m not Bucky.”

“James, Bucky, whatever. There’s something fishy going on here.”

“Maybe you’re just smelling the sewer.”

Steve’s jaw clenched in that determined way and James’ stomach swooped. Maybe it was just nausea from the sewer experience. “You’d have to be either stupid or negligent to ignore something so obvious. I don’t know you, but I know that you’re neither of those things.”

James’ stomach swooped again, the traitor. “Chill out, I hear you. I’ll be in touch.”

Steve hesitated before he nodded and left. James watched Steve go until he ducked into an alley off Willoughby, and then weighed his own options. He could keep going, try and hail a cab and get to a safe house to contact his people. But that would leave a paper trail and he had no interest in fucking his future self over.

No, his best bet would be to make his way to the nearest safe house in Prospect Heights. It would take him about half an hour if he took the fast route, but that was dangerous. It would take closer to an hour if he was smart and kept to alleyways and took a more circuitous route. He sighed with resignation. Today was bad enough, and he couldn’t afford to take any more risks. He ducked into the nearest alley and headed off, still reeking of sewer.


	4. A Tale of Two Escapees

The walk to Prospect Heights took even longer than James was expecting, because people dressed in expensive clothing that were also drenched in sewer water tended to not be a very common sight in Brooklyn. He managed to get past people mostly without being seen, since he’d kept to the back alleys as much as possible. But there were some unavoidable looks his way and he did his level best to angrily ignore them. As James made his way south, he was keenly aware of the sloshing in his shoes and the way his soiled clothes clung to his body, and hoped he could find something clean at the safe house.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the police presence in Prospect Heights that day was too much for James to be entirely comfortable with. Instead of risking it when he was already about as conspicuous as he could be, he decided to take himself further south and into Crown Heights.

It was another thirty minutes, and his clothes had started to dry and become _crunchy_ and it made his skin crawl. The wet socks and his leather shoes made for a painful combination and James hoped and prayed with everything he had that the blisters he could feel forming didn’t break skin. He was in no mood to contract any deadly diseases, thank you very much.

He debated whether or not to call Clint and Nat, but if Steve was right about there being something fishy going on - and his own gut told him to listen to that suspicion - then it probably wasn’t a good idea to use his personal phone right then. Besides, who knew if they’d even pick up? They might have been blown to smithereens. James’ steps faltered at the idea that his only friends and confidants might have just died. It was too much. The idea that he might now be the head of the family was also too much. Clint, Nat, his dad...they were all okay.

They _had_ to be.

If they weren’t, and the Irish _did_ turn out to be behind the attack, nothing would keep James from getting his revenge. He’d burn their entire territory to the ground if that’s what it took.

After what felt like an eternity, he arrived at the safehouse in Crown Heights. James skillfully picked the lock and walked inside. Once he'd given the building a sweep to ensure his security, the very first thing he did was go to the bathroom, strip himself down and step into a hot, slightly cramped shower. Fortunately, the bathroom was stocked with basic toiletries. It took three rounds of scrubbing his body vigorously before he dared to emerge.

Removing the filth from his ring, watch, and necklace was his next task, though he’d get them professionally polished. He did the best he could with what he could, and went in search of some clothes. The bedroom closet contained several items, but the only clothes in his size were sweatpants and t-shirts. They were a far cry from his usual attire, but they beat walking around in crusted sewage.

The next order of business was to find a phone. He checked the nightstand by the bed, beneath the bed, beneath the couch, behind the TV, everywhere he could think of. He finally found it on the wall in the closet behind a stack of stale-smelling linens. He turned it on and dialed Nat’s number. He paced the room while the phone rang.

“Romanova,” came her voice after the fourth ring.

“It’s me.”

“You’re alive,” she said coolly. “There goes my 20 bucks.”

“You bet against me?” James asked. “Bet Barton will be happy.”

“Yeah, he’ll be thrilled. Where are you?” she asked.

“Crown Heights,” he said. “You know where. We’ll catch up once you get here.”

“Sure thing,” she said.

“Oh, could you bring me some clothes?” he asked. “The stuff here is garbage. I look like I walked out of a Wal-Mart in the Midwest.”

“Not a chance,” she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice. “The great Winter Soldier reduced to slumming it like the rest of us? You couldn’t pay for me to miss this.”

“You’re fired,” James muttered.

“You couldn’t survive without me and you know it,” she countered. “Be there in 30.”

With that, James hung up. The small TV offered a lifeline to the outside world and a chance to figure out what the hell was going on. It flickered reluctantly to life and he flipped channels until he found something that looked like local news.

The explosion was all they talked about. Curiously, there were no reported fatalities. If the police had managed to locate a suspect from either of the families, surely they would’ve said as much. Or maybe they wouldn’t, if they hoped that they'd be able to follow the trail to a bigger fish they could fry.

The entire thing set James on edge. Murder, theft, illegal trade, all of that was par for the course. But domestic terrorism was an unspoken line that they all acknowledged and stayed well away from. Bombs were messy. Bombs were loud and unsubtle and brought unwanted attention. Gunshots could be pushed the back of the public's mind, but explosions tended to be the kind of events that made people sit up and take notice.

James knew that as much as Big Barnes hated Father Joe, he wouldn’t resort to a bomb, especially not one that would put himself or his son in danger. His father preferred quieter, more subtle ways. James was aware of half a dozen attempts to kill Father Joe in his sleep or while he was alone, but none of them had been successful. Even so, Big Barnes wouldn’t resort to anything as messy as a bomb just to get Father Joe’s head.

That left the Irish, and immediately James’ thoughts turned to Steve. While he could believe that Father Joe was the sort who would throw his people under the bus, Steve was another matter. Steve was… different.

Steve could’ve abandoned James, could have let the building fall on him, could have led him directly into the middle of Irish territory through the sewers, or just killed him and left him there to be flushed out during a storm. Instead, Steve had led him to safety and then let him go.

 _Fucking Rogers_ , James thought. _Why does he have to complicate things so much?_

Three knocks, then two echoed from the front door. A glance through the peephole confirmed it was Natasha and Clint, so he turned the lock and let them in.

Natasha swept inside and sniffed. “Something stinks,” she said.

“Nice to see you, too,” James muttered.

“Ignore her,” Clint said, pulling him into a hug. “Your old man gave us the third degree over what happened, is all.”

“Then he’s okay?”

“Yeah, everyone managed to get out unscathed, for the most part. The explosion was a ways from us. We thought maybe you were caught in it.”

“We were,” James replied.

“But you got out.” Natasha sniffed again. “Something still stinks.”

James sighed. “Escaped through the sewers.”

Clint and Nat stared at him for a moment before they each burst out laughing. Natasha actually doubled over and hugged her midsection while Clint braced himself against a wall. James felt his face heat in embarrassment and he grumbled something about lousy friends.

“The mighty Yasha Barnsukov reduced to crawling through a sewer!” Clint cackled, wiping his eyes. “God, I would’ve paid to see that.”

“You’re fired, too,” James muttered. “Let’s go, I need to report in. I’m already fucked.”

“Testy,” Nat said archly. “All right, all right, we’ll get out of here.”

“Go easy on him, Nat,” Clint said. “He’s really seen some _shit_ today.”

James groaned and Clint and Natasha high-fived each other without looking.

Several minutes later the sewer clothes were disposed of and the safehouse secured and closed up. A few blocks into East Flatbush, Nat looked at him through the rearview mirror.

“Yasha, you said _we_ got out,” she said. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Well… there was Steve,” James replied carefully.

“‘Steve?'” she asked. “As in, _Rogers?_ ”

“Yes.” The flush on James’ face grew more prominent as he knew the only logical direction this conversation could go. He’d have to tell them.

“Oh, you’re on a first name basis with the Irish golden boy, now?” Clint asked. “How did that happen, weren’t you supposed to kill him?”

“Yeah… never got around to it,” James said. The idea of Steve’s body, broken and bruised and lifeless came to his mind and made him feel sick. He growled and pushed the thoughts from his mind.

“You wanna run that by us again?” Nat asked coldly.

“The explosion happened and we were thrown to the floor before I could kill him,” James snapped. “He put up a decent fight.”

“He wouldn’t be the first, so that’s no excuse,” she countered.

James ignored that. “The building started to collapse so we both hightailed it out of there.”

“And at no point in all of this did you have an opportunity to grab a loose brick and brain him with it? What aren’t you telling us?”

James stared back at her in the tiny mirror, debating the merits of continuing to lie to the pair of them, but then sighed and sank back into his seat. “I slept with him.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “You were supposed to kill him, and you fucked him instead?” Clint finally said with a sort of horrified awe.

Natasha smacked him, but did glare harder at James through the mirror. “When? And-- and _how?_ You better have a damn good explanation.”

“Last night. We met at a bar, he said his name was Grant,” he replied with a shrug. “Should’ve known it was too good to be true. Anyway, he helped pull me out of there, and he was the one to get us through the sewers into neutral territory.”

Nat sighed. “Great. That’s just fucking great. You sleep with the enemy, and then let him walk away from a meeting he was never supposed to walk away from.”

“At least Yasha’s alive, though,” Clint said. “Rogers could’ve killed him and we’d be none the wiser.”

“It was still incredibly stupid!”

“Not a word of this to my father,” James ordered.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Natasha demanded. “Of course I’m not gonna tell him! But Jesus, you picked a fine time to pull a stunt like this.”

James didn't have an argument for that. He also didn’t mention that he had been the one to rescue Steve first….or that they fucked _after_ the explosion, too...or that he could have killed Steve a dozen times while they were in the warehouse.

What had possessed James to not take advantage of those situations, he still wasn’t sure.

“What do you know about what happened?” James asked. Natasha's sharp look said that they weren’t done talking about this.

“We know the same as everyone else at the moment,” Clint said. “The Irish set a trap for us, tried to blow us up, maybe tried to pin it on us.”

Two days ago, James would’ve thought exactly that and not even questioned it a little bit. Now, he didn’t know what to think. Maybe Steve wasn’t like his family. Or maybe he was good enough at lying that he managed to come off as bad at it, like Clint, and he really was the same as the rest. James couldn’t really convince himself of that, though.

“You think differently?” Nat asked, noticing the hesitation.

James shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, keep that to yourself, cause we’re almost there,” Nat replied. “Your old man’s in a mood, too.”

 _Great_ , James thought as he steeled himself. A few minutes later, they parked on the side of the street about a block away from KGBar. They walked inside to the harsh sounds of  someone shouting in Russian, and James scanned the floor for dead bodies he might need to step over. His father’s temper ran hot after fuck-ups, and he could get a little trigger happy when he was stressed.

“I don’t want excuses, I want to know what the fuck happened there today!” his father shouted. Sure enough, his gun was pointed at some poor soul who looked like he was about to wet himself. Holding the trembling man in the chair was Big Barnes’ right hand man, Karpov.

That only soured James’ mood further. He hated that guy. He was about as warm as a lizard in January, but his ruthlessness and efficiency were all his father cared about. If James wasn’t available to take care of a problem, Karpov handled it.

Schooling his face to hide his distaste, James stepped up. “Father,” he said.

Big Barnes turned around and looked at him, but before he could speak, James heard another voice. It immediately raised his hackles.

“Ah, young Yasha,” said Arnim Zola, his father’s left hand man, as he stepped up from around the bar. “So good to see you safe. I believe I speak for all of us when I say how… _relieved_ we are to see you unharmed.”

James didn’t respond. Zola was a leech, but one who seemed to have charmed his way into his father’s good graces. All he knew was Zola had a knack for getting his hands on information. No matter what his father thought, that made him dangerous in James’ book.

“Did you do it?” Big Barnes asked. “Is the Rogers boy dead?”

James kept his face neutral, even though he bitterly noticed that his father didn’t even bother asking if he was all right. He shook his head.

“The explosion… interrupted,” he said. “I barely made it out of there.”

His father stared at him before he nodded. “It’s okay, I understand.”

James braced himself against a faint tinge of surprise. “You… understand?”

“Yes, you did your best. It’s not your fault the Irish planted a bomb,” his father said.

A wave of suspicion and dread flooded James a second before he felt the right side of his face erupt in pain as his father backhanded him. “You should’ve killed him when you had the chance! All of you, useless!”

James brought a hand to his lip and his fingers came away red. He tugged the sleeve down from the cheap sweatshirt and pressed it to his lip.

“And you two!” Big Barnes shouted at Nat and Clint. “Do you have anything to add to this heaping pile of nothing we’ve got?” They each shook their heads. “Great. That’s great. Surrounded by professionals and not one of you can do their fucking job!”

Zola held up a hand. “If I may suggest, maybe we should wait for things to die down. Information may become more available when the police aren’t as… involved.”

There was a tense pause, and then Big Barnes nodded with a grunt and stomped off towards the entrance.

“Zola! Don’t bring me anyone else until someone knows what the hell happened out there!” his father bellowed. “Find out what the Irish are up to!”

Zola bowed slightly as James’ father stormed out, then turned his rat-like face to James. “Such a shame. We had such hopes for your meeting with the young Rogers, Yasha,” he said. “I suppose there is always next time, yes?”

James clenched his jaw and did his level best not to use Natasha’s pistol to play target practice with Zola’s face.

The man formerly being interrogated scurried out the front door, and Zola and Karpov retreated out the back. Clint went to the freezer to grab some ice, which he brought back to James wordlessly.

“That went well,” Nat said after a moment.

James grunted. His lip was already swelling.

“What now?” Clint asked.

“We keep our heads down for the next few days,” James said. “We can’t do anything until we’re sure the police are out of the way. Keep our ears open for any useful information.”

“Do we tell Zola?” Nat asked.

“Fuck him. Let that weasel do what he likes,” James said. “I’d sooner shove him in a wood chipper than help him.”

“Then what do we do?” Clint asked.

James thought for a moment. Steve’s parting words came to mind and James had to admit, something was definitely off about the whole situation. But he had no proof, fewer leads, and nothing that would make it worth the risk to reach out to Steve.

“We wait.”

 

* * *

 

Steve had a list of traits he could consider strengths, and being stealthy wasn’t on it. As Peggy once said, he had all of the quiet grace of an ox. But on this particular occasion, he preferred self-preservation, and that meant that he had to sneak around like he was guilty. Which he technically was, of a great many things, but not of blowing up the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Instead of skulking around like a common criminal (because criminal he may be but common he was _not,)_ Steve decided to take the high road. He turned down an alley and vaulted onto a dumpster and up the side of the building, until he was flying across the rooftops on his way to Brooklyn Heights. Parkour helped him escape the life down below both figuratively and literally. And sometimes, like right then, it helped him burn off the manic, anxious energy in his chest. Up high, careening from building to building, nobody could catch him. Most people didn’t even see him, and he liked it like that.

Handicapped as he was by wet and constrictive clothing, with Steve’s strength and speed, it took him barely twenty minutes to land on the fire escape outside his apartment window and jimmy his way in. He had no way of knowing if his place was being watched, but the fire escape was tucked in an alcove of the building that couldn’t be seen from the street.

Once inside his apartment, Steve noted all of his security measures were still in place, so he tugged the blackout curtains closed and made a beeline for his shower, undressing and stuffing his clothes and shoes into the garbage chute along the way.

He emerged after he’d used the entire contents of his hot water heater and most of a new bottle of body wash. Skin scrubbed pink and fresh, and standing in front of the sink, he tenderly cleaned off his medallion of St. Jude. It was almost cathartic; it gave him something to think about other than the shit show that had happened today.

He couldn’t even begin to think about the myriad feelings churning around in his gut over James Barnes. There was too much stuff he had to figure out first, so the thing with James would just have to wait.

Once St. Jude was shining once more, he slid it around his neck and debated whether or not to get in contact with his family. They had no reason to believe he was alive; he had no reason to believe they were, either. He really should check in...but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he played dead for just a little bit longer.

It was a little bit liberating, he thought, being dead. Maybe he could make it stick, move out west, or somewhere overseas. As he face-planted onto his bed, he wondered what the weather was like in Wakanda this time of year. It was probably warm all of the time.

He fell asleep to thoughts of freedom and sunshine.

He woke to a hand stroking through his hair and a crick in his neck.

“Mmpf?” he asked groggily.

“Hello, darling. Time to wake up, we’ve work to do.”

“No, Pegs. M’tired.”

“I know. We all are. But we’re in danger, and we have to figure out from whom.”

Steve rolled over to look at Peggy, who was sitting next to him on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. She handed him a pair of his boxer briefs, which he slid on. Anyone else, he might have felt some shame, but not with Peggy. They knew all each other’s secrets.

“You don’t think it was the Russians?” he asked with a yawn.

Peggy let out a small sigh. “Well, if it was, they’re gotten pretty incompetent, hitting their own people as well.”

“How did you know I was alive?” he asked, going to his dresser and pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“I didn’t. I came to delete your internet history and hard drive, per our agreement circa 2006.”

Steve grinned at her. “Loyal to the end, huh, Pegs?”

“Ride or Die, darling,” she sniffed. “Now, finished getting dressed. We have to see your father.”

Steve felt his face fall, felt his heart sink, felt his whole demeanor shift. He hated being like this, beholden to a man who cared about nobody but himself, his legacy, and how the world perceived him.

“He’s alive then?”

“Quite. And extremely angry, by all accounts.”

“Great.”

“Look here, I’ve finished the books from the last job, and we’ve ten thousand dollars to give to the children in Gowanus, Red Hook, and Cobble Hill. Meet with your father, and then we can go shopping.”

Steve felt his whole body relax. “We can get them those fuzzy animal pillow things, right?”

“Tigers, and zebras, elephants, and all manner of zoological life. But only _after_ you meet with Father Joe. Now get a move on.”

Steve gave her a crisp salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fifteen minutes later, they hailed a cab to The Golden Horseshoe, a highly-rated Irish pub known for their traditional colcannon and soda breads. It was also the headquarters for the Rogers family and their associates.

They walked through the creaky doors, and everyone in the pub turned to watch as they entered. Dum-Dum shot him a nod from behind the bar, and Rumlow barely gave him a glance from behind a pool table.

“So, the prodigal son is alive,” Rumlow sneered as he leaned over to take a shot.

Peggy’s voice whipped across the pub. “Quiet, you. If Steve wants the opinion of a rodent, he’ll ask the mice ‘round back.”

Dum-Dum let out a huge belly laugh and raised a pint of ginger ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

Rumlow flipped them all off, and Peggy led him to the closed doors of the back room.

“Tigers and elephants and all manner of zoological things,” she said in that unflappable manner of hers, as she brushed his shoulders off and straightened his collar.

“Maybe some board games, too?”

“We could get them candy to go with Candyland.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. I like that.”

Peggy smiled back. “Good. Go on, then. You’ve got this.”

Steve nodded, took a breath, and entered the room.

Father Joe’s back was turned, but his head snapped to the side as soon as the door opened. Pierce was at his side, talking to him, but Steve’s entrance interrupted them.

“Steven,” said Father Joe.

Steve straightened his spine. “What happened out there?”

His father couldn’t even be bothered to turn around. “Looks like the Russians decided to sabotage the meeting. Probably thought they could take out father and son at the same time, destabilize our people and expand their territory.”

Steve was silent. He knew this wasn’t true, but Joe would never believe him.

Pierce continued the explanation. “We suspect that that’s why they wanted to get you alone with the younger Barnes. The Winter Soldier is infamous for getting the job done, after all.”

“I am pleased to see that you were a match for him,” Joe said. “And though it is surely a sin to wish for the death of another, I must say that I prefer this to the alternative.”

“James Barnes isn’t dead,” Steve said. A heavy silence fell over the room and Joe slowly turned around and walked towards him. Steve towered over his father, but Joe looked up with cold disdain anyway, like Steve was a bug running across the carpet.

“What was that?” he demanded quietly.

“He’s not dead,” Steve said. “The explosion—”

“Quiet!” Joe snapped. “Did you at least manage to find out where the shipment was?”

Steve shook his head. “He claimed not to know. Before I could do anything else the explosion happened.”

“So let me get this straight,” Joe said slowly. “You went to meet with him, failed to find out where the cargo is, and instead of killing him when you had the chance, you turned tail and ran?”

“I escaped a building crumbling from an explosion,” Steve growled.

Joe sighed. “This is what I get for letting your mother raise you. You’re too soft, boy. I should’ve taken care of this myself. Instead, you’ve pointed a big neon sign at our business for the police to see. And not _our_ police. There’s too much attention. They’re claiming what happened at the Navy Yard was a ‘domestic terrorist event.’”

Steve glared hard at his father and stood his ground. “I wasn’t the one that planted the bomb.”

“No, you’re just the soft-hearted fool who failed to accomplish anything that would’ve made this nonsense today worthwhile,” Joe said. “Get out, I need to clean up this mess.”

Steve turned on his heel and walked straight out of the pub, Peggy close on his heel.

“Dugan and Samuel are waiting with a car. Where to first?”

Steve clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down and think of the task at hand. It was the only thing he looked forward to in life, the only reason he ever stayed.

“Out of fucking Irish territory. I want to get some pasta, and then we’re going to buy out Eugene J.'s entire supply of candy.”

Thirty-two minutes later, the four of them crowded into a booth at DiMaggio’s in Bushwick with large glasses of wine. Steve downed his first in one go, but drank the second like a normal human who wasn’t trying to burn away all of their paternal-inherited DNA.

“So,” Sam said, after they’d ordered. “What really happened in there?”

“Yeah, been wondering that, too,” Dum-Dum said. “Starting with how you recognized Barnes. I thought you’d never met.”

Steve sighed. “I… met him last night,” he said.

“Where?” Peggy demanded. “Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“I didn’t need any. I—uh, met him at… Thor’s Hammer,” Steve said. There was a moment of silence at the table. Steve took another long sip of wine.

“You guys fucked?” Dum-Dum asked. Steve blushed.

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Why would you _do_ that?”

“Because! I didn’t know who he was, and he didn’t know me, either! We gave each other fake names, and it was a good time, okay?” Steve said defensively. “I really liked him. I was gonna call him after the meeting today, see if he wanted to…”

He trailed off and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “That really sucks.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry! I’ve put us all at risk because I wanted to get laid.”

Peggy took his hand and squeezed gently. “Don’t be, darling. You couldn’t have known.”

Dum-Dum snorted and tossed back the rest of his wine. “Unless he introduced himself by saying, ‘Hi, how’s it goin’ I’m your arch enemy, wanna fuck?’” Peggy threw him a stern look and Dum-Dum raised his hands in apology. “I’m just sayin’!”

Sam shook his head. “Okay, that’s established. Why don’t you tell us what happened this morning?”

Steve sighed and began his story. He told them about his night with this great guy, what it had been like when they reunited at the Navy Yard, what happened between them before and after the explosion, and their escape.

They were all speechless as the server finally came back with their pasta.

“Damn,” Sam said as he stabbed a couple tortellini. “All that must make it hard to figure out what to do.”

“What’s there to do?” Dum-Dum asked around a forkful of meatball. “He’s not just a Russian. He’s first in line to the throne of their entire empire. It’d be like Romeo and Juliet: doomed to failure and probably death.”

“Thanks for that,” Steve drawled.

“Anyway,” Peggy interjected. “Steve, you know that we’re with you, whatever you want. So, what do you want us to do?”

Steve thought for a moment and twirled some fettuccine. He could go along with what his father wanted, but… what happened at the docks didn’t sit well with him.

“Something’s up,” he said. “I don’t know what, but I don’t think that the Russians are behind it.”

“Because of what Barnes told you?” Peggy asked, and wiped some Alfredo sauce from his cheek.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to trust him?” Sam asked. “You’ve known him all of one night and part of a day. How do you know that he’s telling you the truth?”

“I really, really don’t,” he admitted. “I just have a feeling that something else is going on here that we don’t know about. I’m not gonna ask you to put yourselves at risk. I can figure this out on my own.”

The three of them looked at each other before they laughed. Steve blushed at the sound.

“Steve, we love you, but you’re an idiot,” Sam said. “Of course we’ll help.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you.”

“What now?” asked Dum-Dum.

“Now? Now, we raid a candy store.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eugene J. Candy Co. is a rad little candy shop in Bushwick, Brooklyn, that specializes in Halloween-themed treats!


	5. The Side Unseen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter has been beta'ed by the lovely Chicklette! <3

Steve scowled out of his living room window. The past week had seen them all on edge, but him especially. Tensions between the Irish and the Russians and Steve and Father Joe were tense at best, and volatile at worst. Everyone felt the undercurrent of uneasiness; from the members of the family itself to the general residents of the Irish territory, people could feel something brewing. Some were expecting things to turn into an all-out conflict, and others were on edge from seeing the Rogers family with their hackles raised to maximum.

Everyone had negative feelings toward the Russians. These feelings varied from general dislike to extreme, vengeful hatred. Most people had lost someone in the century-long blood feud, or knew someone who had. The rest had heard enough stories to color their opinions. It didn’t matter if the losses were a month or a decade ago; the flames of animosity burned bright.

As the head of the family, Father Joe saw every Irish death as a personal loss. Each one served to make him more bitter and hateful, and he was always eager to fight. Whether it was a bar brawl or a territory dispute, Father Joe took every chance he could to exact his revenge. Rumlow and Pierce were always eager to encourage him, to fan those flames a little higher, and Steve couldn’t stand it. Every time he tried to talk his father away from the edge of battle, Pierce and his silver tongue would whisper a few quiet words and Rumlow would volunteer to take the first strike. Between the two, it was a struggle to get a word in edgewise, and Steve’s father never, ever listened to him.

Steve himself hated the fighting. He did it because he had to, whether that meant correcting an injustice or protecting his own. Steve acted only as a shield for the Irish, not a sword. He saw nothing good in the horrors of a century of bloodshed, and it churned his stomach and made his chest tight to think they’d none of them might ever live to see the end of it.

The police had yet to come to any solid conclusion about who was behind the explosion at the Navy Yard. The detectives had come by, but hadn’t brought anyone in for formal questioning. The Russians, of course, had pointed the finger at them, and Pierce, ever the Irish mouthpiece, was quick to retaliate.

Steve wondered if James had anything to do with sending the police their way. He could’ve done it to allay suspicion against his own family, or to get back into his father’s good graces if he was as in trouble as Steve was. Or Big Barnes could have made the call, and like Steve, Bucky was just trying to stay sane from putting a stop to the bloodshed. Steve knew which one he’d like to think was most likely, but there was no way to tell for sure.

The entire conflict left a bad taste in his mouth. In the past week, tensions had begun to rise; six days ago there was talk of standard payback, but now there were mumblings of an all-out war. There was nothing they could do but wait, and if there was one thing Steve was bad at, it was doing nothing when something needed to be done.

Steve glared even harder out of the window and out across the river. His apartment was far enough away from his father’s residence in Greenwood Heights that he didn’t have to worry about running into Father Joe unexpectedly. It was still deep within the Irish stronghold of east Brooklyn, but far enough away from the goings-on that he felt a marginal amount of freedom when he was at home.

Except for that day.

Dum-Dum was lounging on the sofa, with a bottle of Steve’s beer. “They’re gonna get us all killed with this pissing contest of theirs,”  he grumbled. Steve nodded. “Gotta hand it to the Russians, though. It’s damned impressive how they managed to hide the evidence.”

Steve threw an exasperated look towards him and Dum-Dum shrugged. “Hey, I know you’re not convinced it was them, but until you dig up some evidence, it’s the best theory we’ve got.”

Steve sighed and turned his back to the window. He crossed the room and plopped himself down next to Dum-Dum. “Yeah, I know. Guess I’m just tired of keeping my head down.”

“I don’t blame you,” Dum-Dum said. “This shit’s making me antsy.”

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek and his leg bounced. “It’s been a week. Things have both settled and gotten worse. If we were gonna start digging, now would be the time.”

“And what do you propose, exactly?” Peggy asked from the dining table, not even bothering to look up from her laptop. “It's not like we're swimming in intelligence on our Slavic counterparts. They’ve been even more guarded and hostile than usual.”

“Peggy raises a good point,” Sam said from the kitchen as he pulled out a tray of cookies from the oven. “Unless you have a police officer in your pocket that Father Joe doesn’t know about and who’s willing to share leads, we’ve got nothing.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Okay, so let’s figure out what we _do_ know. We know who was there on our side.”

“You, Father Joe. Rumlow and a few of his lackeys,” Peggy recalled. “Not exactly out of the ordinary.”

“We also know Big Barnes was there, as well as James,” Steve said. “How often has that happened? How often, in the history of our families, when the heads of both Rogers and Barnsukov families _and_ their heirs apparent met face-to-face? That’s weird, right?”

The room was silent as they all looked between each other. It had never happened. Meetings between the heads of their families were generally impromptu and violent. This one was planned, and that in itself made things suspicious.

“What are you sayin’, Cap?” Dum-Dum asked.

“...I don’t know. Just…something doesn’t feel right about this.” Half-formed thoughts niggled in the back of Steve’s mind, but they refused to make themselves known.

Sam started transferring his cookies onto the cooling rack and asked, “Hey, why wasn’t Pierce there? Meeting that important, wouldn’t Father Joe want his snake hissin’ all kinds of nonsense to confuse the Russians?”

They all paused again.

Peggy stiffened and began typing furiously. “What...where...ha! Alright, last week I was CC’d on a rubbish email from Pierce. I don’t think he meant me to have it, he asked me about it later. I told him I’d deleted it since it was corrupted or a glitch or something, but now that I think about it he seemed altogether too pleased about that.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe we should take it to the Starks, see if they can figure out if its a code.”

“Do it.”

Dum-Dum finished his beer and burped loudly. “Why?”

“Because the meetup was Pierce’s idea in the first place, and he wasn’t there. That’s  fuckin’ suspicious. Because maybe... someone wanted it to look like our families fought at the docks,” Steve replied, the gears in his mind finally turning. “Maybe it was supposed to look like mutually-assured destruction. Maybe none of us were supposed to walk away.”

“I say again,” said Dum-Dum, “Why?”

Steve threw his hands up. “I don’t know! But We got a lot of little pieces adding up to a big fat nothing and leading to more questions than answers. Maybe it’s none of these things, you should know by now I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s a lovely theory,” Peggy acquiesced, closing her laptop. “But it’s pure conjecture. We still need something concrete to act upon, to bring to Father Joe, or even take matters into our own hands, anything. But we need more than his. We need to look for more evidence.”

Steve bit his lip and pulled out his phone. “I might know someone who can help with that.”

 

* * *

 

James Barnes was skilled in a great many things, including the art of ignoring his father. And an art, it was. Big Barnes was not the sort to tolerate insolent behavior; but he was also not the most observant person when he was frothy. James knew which pieces of his father’s ranting were important and which he could tune out.

In the week since the explosion, Zola’s contacts had discovered that the police had no leads and weren’t looking to move against them, or the Irish. It hardly surprised James, but his father had been irate at this grievous injustice.

The whole thing gave James a headache. Navigating his father’s moods could be challenging at the best of times, but now he had a constant reminder that the man’s volatile temper was easily the most dangerous thing about him.

James leaned back in his chair against the back wall of KGBar, nursing a double shot of his favorite vodka, ignoring his father very artfully, if he said so himself. He set his legs on the table, crossed at the ankle, and tipped his vodka in a silent _zazdarovje_ to Nat before taking a sip.

Big Barnes’ attention was currently directed elsewhere, so James could afford not to focus on him. The secret to ignoring his father was knowing that his attention wasn’t on you. James kept track in his periphery but relaxed in the meanwhile.

Karpov, ever the attack dog, stood against the wall with his arms crossed trying to look intimidating. Personally, James just thought that he looked constipated. The weasel was behind the bar, as usual, playing a shitty bartender. James was glad he’d gotten his own drink. James took another sip and _didn’t_ listen to his father threatening what was probably one of James’ uncles. James rolled his eyes. Why they were all called together was beyond him. None of them knew anything and Big Barnes’ posturing wasn’t helping.

“Not going to find anything if we stick around here,” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Let him tire himself out,” James replied, just as quiet. “Otherwise we’ll just attract attention.”

“And it’s not like we have any leads,” Clint whispered.

Somehow, James was sure that this was not the time or place to voice such thoughts. No matter what his primary, ingrained thoughts about the Irish were, Steve wasn’t wrong. Something felt wrong about this whole situation, and James couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Look alive,” Nat said, and James focused on what was happening. Big Barnes had finished yelling and rounded on James and his friends. _Took him long enough_ , James thought.

“What about you?” George said in a dangerously low voice. “Have you managed to make up for that fuck-up of yours by getting me any useful information?”

James stared unblinkingly at him. He was half tempted to clap back with ‘if the explosion hadn’t happened, there wouldn’t have been a problem.’ But that wasn’t strictly true, and would only rile up his father more.

“No,” he said evenly. “The Irish are as confused as we are, and that’s all there is to know.”

Big Barnes looked like he wanted to yell some more, but then shook his head and sighed. James guessed right; the man had tired himself out.

“Right, well as long as no one here knows anything, there’s no point in keeping this going,” his father announced to the room at large. “Clear out! Don’t bother showing your face until you have something worth my time!” He then motioned to Karpov and headed to the exit.

James took his feet off the table and stood. Before he left the bar, he took the time to make sure that he was presentable. Ever since the day he was forced to dress like a college freshman during finals week, he’d been paying particular attention to his appearance. He nodded at Nat and Clint, and they turned to leave.

“Yasha, a moment, if you please,” came the high-pitched, accented voice that made James’ skin crawl. He kept his face neutral as he turned to Zola.

“What.”

“I just wanted to ensure that you were… being truthful with your esteemed father,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” James asked, feeling that itch to practice targets again.

“Oh, I’m sure you would never be dishonest about something so important to our people,” Zola said in that nasally, diplomatic voice of his. “But I did find some _fascinating news_  in the last week. A little bird whispered in my ear that the night before our big meeting, you were in neutral territory.”

“If you say so.”

“You were seen at a...particular bar.”

James carefully kept his whole body easy and loose. Fuck this guy if he thought he could get a read on the Winter Soldier. “A third of Brooklyn is neutral. That’s a lot of bars, and a lot of people.”

“Yes, what is so fascinating about this particular bar is that you were seen with someone that bears a striking resemblance to Joseph Rogers’ son,” Zola said. “My bird tells me that you seemed quite enamored with each other.”

“Your ‘bird’ saw, what? Two men drinking together? One big and blonde, the other with long brown hair? This is _Brooklyn_ , Zola. A quarter of the male population meets those descriptions.”

“Oh, I am sure they must have been doppelgangers,” Zola agreed. “It would be… _unfortunate_ … if there was a reason to doubt the Barnsukov son. After the fiasco at the Navy Yard, it would look most peculiar indeed.”

“Then I am happy to allay your suspicions.”

Zola just gave James that sickening smile of his, and James promptly turned around and walked out of the bar.

Clint opened his mouth to say something and James shook his head sharply. They walked in silence for several blocks before James ducked into an alley, threw his phone against the side of the building. They watched it explode, and together they sifted through the pieces until Nat found the bug.

“He’s _surveilling_ me,” James growled. “He had me followed to Thor’s Hammer, and he’s probably bugged my apartment, too.”

“What do we do? Tell Big Barnes, control the narrative?” Clint asked.

“Are you insane! He might have told Zola to do it. And if not, at this point, I think dear old dad would be ready to shoot me if he suspected that I fraternized with the enemy. That’s the only thing keeping Zola from telling him: I’m more useful to him alive than dead. He thinks he’s got leverage on me.”

They exited the alley and walked another half block to an electronics shop, where James purchased a new phone on a new carrier. He set up call forwarding so his new number would ring with incoming calls to his old one, and he could turn off the forwarding whenever. They also purchased three bug sweepers and two Faraday pouches.

They were halfway to James’ apartment when his phone started to ring. The new phone didn’t have any contacts yet, so he didn’t recognize the number. He hit ‘accept.’

“New phone, who’s this?” he asked.

“Hey, Buck,” came a familiar, deep voice. It put him on edge just as much as it soothed him, and James didn’t know how to process that feeling.

“Hey, Grant,” he said. Nat and Clint both looked sharply at him. “You’ve got interesting timing.”

Steve chuckled and James could just imagine the shy smile and blush on his face. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Not sure yet,” James replied. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling to parley.”

“Parley? Now that is interesting,” James said, eyebrows raised. “When and where?”

“There’s a diner in Williamsburg.”

“Pal, there’s about a hundred of those.”

“I’ll text you which one. Meet us there in an hour.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“My team. You can bring yours, too, of course. But only the ones you trust. Will you come?”

James hesitated. It would be a good chance to get some leads, it was well away from either of their territories, and they were each bringing their people to the table. James had no idea who Steve relied on, but the information could be useful, and they needed that.

“We’ll be there,” he said.

“Good, I’m glad,” Steve replied before he hung up.

James pocketed the phone and ran a hand through his hair.

“Jesus, try to control yourself,” Nat said. “You’re smiling like a seventh-grader passing notes with his crush.”

“I am not,” James denied, and schooled his face. “Come on, we got somewhere to be.”

 

* * *

 

An hour and sixteen minutes after calling, Steve was sitting at a booth in a bustling diner, growing impatient. It was in the corner, away from view of outside, and Steve’s back was to the wall. Peggy and Sam were in the booth opposite, playing nonchalant but still keeping an eye on him.

James still hadn’t shown and Steve was beginning to think that he was a fool for even asking. He tried not to feel disappointed, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Just as he was about to get up, the door to the diner opened and Steve felt his heart do a little tap dance. James walked in, looking handsome and dapper as ever, flanked by the guy with short, sandy hair and the small red haired woman from the Navy Yard. He knew each of them by reputation since they were high-ranking members of the Barnsukov family and, apparently, James’ right hand people.

James broke away from them and slid into the seat across from Steve. His associates took the booth behind him. He pulled out a Faraday pouch from his breast pocket and slapped it on the table.

“Put your phone in that.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but slid his phone into the pouch and James did the same. The waitress came by and James ordered a chocolate malt shake, and Steve was struck by such an innocent choice. The Winter Soldier, the fist of the Russian family, ordering a simple chocolate malt. In that moment he seemed so very _human_ to Steve, and not at all like the ghost story he was often portrayed to be.

Steve recognized this as a dangerous line of thinking, and then ordered a strawberry shake for himself.

James leveled him with a calculating look before asking, “What’s up?”

Steve leaned back. “When we were escaping from the Navy Yard, I said that something weird was up.”

“Yeah, I know, I was there. Did you drag me all the way across the borough to rehash old events or do you have anything new for me?”

“Think about it,” Steve said. “When do our fathers ever meet under any circumstances where they don’t plan on shooting each other?”

“Literally never.”

“Exactly,” Steve replied. “Now, I don’t know about you, but this so-called ‘meeding’ wasn’t my father’s idea. It was pitched to him.”

James stared at him for another moment before he nodded. “My father… took some convincing. One of his lackeys came up with the idea.”

“I think someone else is behind this,” Steve said. “Are there any people in your organization who are relatively new but very powerful?”

“There’s one, and he very well could have something to do with this.” James said. “What about you? Do you have any idea who might be pulling the strings?”

Steve shook his head. “No. But I _do_ know that someone is fucking with both of our families, and I don’t take kindly to that. But with so little information, we can’t do anything about it,  and I can only investigate people in the Irish camp. I can’t investigate anyone on your side.”

The waitress returned with their milkshakes. “Let me get this straight,” James said after a sip of his malt. “You want me to investigate my family and our allies?”

“Yes. In turn, I’ll investigate my family and our people to figure out who - or what - is behind this. I’ll share anything I find with you, as long as you do the same.”

James looked impressed. “You got some balls on you. Shame I didn’t get a closer look when I had the chance.”

Steve blushed. Just the thought of having James between his legs again was enough to make his cock twitch with lust. James sucked on the straw to his milkshake, and Steve could imagine those soft lips wrapped around his cock...

He cleared his throat and pushed the thoughts from his mind… for now.

“Do we have a deal?” Steve asked. James held out a hand. Steve took it and as soon as they touched, lightning shot up his arm. It was growing almost familiar, the way his blood burned with desire at the mere touch of James’ skin against his. Steve craved more of it. He reluctantly let go of James’ hand.

“You have a deal,” James said, getting up and leveling Steve with a glare. “But fair warning: you fuck me over, I will obliterate everyone and everything you care about.”

Sure, Steve lusted after James, but he was under no illusions as to who or what he was. James Barnes may have the body and face of a supermodel, but he was one of the most dangerous men in Brooklyn.

Steve returned his hard glare. “I’d expect nothing less. And same.”

And he meant it.


	6. Tides of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GoldBlooded: Heyyyyy guys. Sorry for the delay, but my Cardinal Rule of Fandom is that Real Life Comes First. I've been busy getting a HELLA better job, but now that's sorted we can wrap up this story for you! <3

James, Natasha, and Clint were gathered around James’ dining room table, drinking vodka and playing cards. A transmission blocker sat squarely on the table, ensuring that their conversation went unheard by any bugs that may have been planted in James’ apartment.

Nat and Clint were understandably hesitant to team up with Steve and Company. James was surprised that the idea hadn’t earned him a quick slap upside the head from Nat, but that was before he told them what exactly the plan was.

“We’re going to _what?!”_ Clint yelped.

Aaand _there_ was the slap James had been expecting.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at Nat, “if there were any other leads, I’d say we follow them. But Zola’s our best shot and you know it.”

“Karpov?” Nat asked.

“I mean, yeah, he’d be easier, but he’s dumber than a rock and even harder to crack. But he’s just a muscle man, he probably doesn’t know shit.”

Nat tsked. “You should know better than to underestimate people like that.”

“If I thought even for a _second_ that he was important enough to know anything, I’d say let’s do it. And tracking Karpov would alert Zola that we’re up to something. He’s already keeping tabs on me, and that would give him a chance to clean up after himself and come up with alibis. So, yeah, we could start with Karpov. But my gut’s telling me Zola. What about you?”

Nat and Clint looked at each other for a moment and then back at James.

“Zola,” they sighed simultaneously.

“Alright,” Nat said. “So we dig up dirt and then, what? Share it with the _Irish?_ Are you insane?”

“Very probably. But I trust him.” They raised their eyebrows disbelievingly. “Okay, I _kind of_ trust him.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at James. “Is this another one of your gut feelings?”

“...Yes.”

“Yasha,” Nat said sweetly, “I love you very much. But I want you to know that if these gut feelings of yours turn out to be wrong, the next feelings they’ll have will be of them hitting the floor.”

James tilted his head in acquiescence. “I will hand you the knife.”

Clint thunked his head onto the table. “I hate your guts and their stupid feelings.”

James reached over and patted his shoulder. “I know, buddy.”

“Alright,” Nat said, staring at him in that calculating way of hers. “What’s the plan?”

Twelve hours and twenty-six minutes later, around five a.m. when it was dark and quiet, the trio quickly sneaked into KGBar. Nat overrode all the security easily, having been the one to set it up in the first place, and they warily reached Zola’s office door.

One of Zola’s many jobs for Big Barnes was accounting. He was privy to a lot of information about people and their finances, as well as knowing what the entire organization was up to, and how much everything was worth. He might be a weasel, but he was a smart and slippery one, and he’d easily be able to follow leads and patterns based on the financial information he was given.

They were playing a dangerous game with bizarre circumstances in uncharted territory, and James felt very much that Nat and Clint were right to be wary.

“You sure we can’t just kill him?” Clint asked as Nat scanned for any additional security that Zola may have installed in his office. “It would be so much easier.”

“And give my father yet another reason to go on a rampage?” James countered. “No, thank you.”

“Which brings us back to this investigating Zola thing,” Natasha said. “Why the hell did you agree to this?”

James didn’t answer right away because he wasn’t all that sure himself. He could say that he always had a bad feeling about Zola ever since he popped up about 5 years ago. In all that time, James had never actually voiced his opinion around anyone who wasn’t Natasha and Clint, though maybe he should have.

He could also say that he was suspicious of what had happened the day of the explosion. But saying that in a way that didn’t frame Steve as a the reason those suspicions were so strong would be… difficult. Natasha had an annoyingly accurate bullshit meter. It was convenient when it was used on other people, but _very_ annoying when she used it on him.

Eventually, he answered. “We’re doing this because we have no other leads and we need to know what’s going on.”

“Yes, we did establish that,” Natasha said patiently as Zola’s office door clicked open. “But technically you’ve made us all blood traitors by teaming up with the Irish. Not that I blame you, because _something’s_ going on, but I want to make sure your motivations are the right ones.”

“We’re not teamed up with them unless we actually find something,” James said, and ignored the way his stomach rolled when Natasha pointed out that they were all traitors now. There was no turning back; evidence or not, they could - and would - be killed for this.

“But you _do_ think we’re going to find something,” Clint said. “You wouldn’t have risked it if you didn’t think we would find something.”

James stood in the open doorway took a breath. “Yeah, I do,” he said soberly, and Nat stepped past him and inside the office. “Look for any personal information about him. History, identity, where he came from, who he’s worked for. Anything and everything.”

“On it,” Nat said, already making her way to the computer.

“What are we doing, standing around looking pretty?” Clint asked.

“We’re going to find out where the money is going, and if our people are funding anything my father doesn’t know about.”

George Barnes was wary of electronic files and their easy hackability, so he kept it old-school with paper files. The main office held numerous cabinets of files with no discernable system, and it was slow, boring work.

James and Clint found a few interesting papers, mostly about shell corporations they owned. James was familiar with some of them, but he wasn’t aware that they had business in Romania.

He had learned a lot about the ins and outs over the years at his father’s right hand, being groomed to take over as leader one day. They had many resources through their main shell company located and operated out of Brooklyn. Weapons trafficking was an international business but Romania was not as lucrative a location as, say, Venezuela.

It was also _way_ too close to Bratva territory for comfort.

The Bratva (the actual Russian mob and not a small-potatoes organization like the Barnsukovs) was involved in Romania, and all of the Eastern Bloc countries. That was _their_ territory and they didn’t appreciate anyone stepping where they shouldn’t, shared heritage or not.

“Clint...” James said.

“Hm?”

“Have you found anything about Romania?” he asked.

“Some. Why, is that weird?”

“Not unless you’re fine with crossing the Bratva.”

“Hard pass,” he said with wide eyes. “Why would we have anything going on near them?”

“We _don’t,”_ James replied. “My father may have a temper, but he’s not reckless. The Bratva are bad for us and we’re an inconvenience to them, at most. One that’s easily dealt with.”

Clint realized the full weight of James’s words. “Right, so we want anything about stuff going on in Romania,” he said, with renewed vigor.

“Anywhere in eastern Europe,” James said. “Our actual stuff is mostly in South America.”

They pulled files and took dozens of pictures of the pages, careful to put things back in their haphazard system. James was sure there _was_ a system, one that only the inventor (Zola) knew. He’d easily be able to tell if things were messed with, so James and Clint were meticulous in their work.

Natasha showed up a few minutes later holding a flash drive and surveyed their progress. “Find anything useful?”

“Yup.” James replied and checked his watch. “We should get out of here.”

Natasha helped them put the files back in their proper places and they slipped out the back of the bar into the alleyway.

They came for answers and only got more questions, but at least now they had a better idea of what to be asking. They walked in silence down the sidewalk, dawn breaking as they made their way back to James’ apartment.

“Be honest with me,” Clint said quietly after a moment. “How do you feel about what we’re doing?”

“‘We’ as in the Barnes family or ‘we’ as in us investigating?”

“Both.”  

James sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I mean, I like getting answers, but everything just seems so insane right now. Like it’s not really happening to us. So I don’t know how to feel.”

Natasha turned to look at him. “If it comes back that Big Barnes knows what Zola is doing, whatever that is, what will you do?”

James took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, dread settling in his veins.

“My job is to to ensure the well-being and prosperity of our family, and protect it from those that would do us harm. Including the boss, if it comes to it.”

“Hope it doesn’t,” Clint said. James had to agree with him.

After getting back to James’ apartment and sleeping for a few hours, they started looking through the information Natasha got from Zola’s computer. Most of what they found was normal business stuff. There was account information, records of where the money went, jobs that their people did, operations they ran, deals they’d made, and a lot more. Most of it was encrypted but Nat broke through after only a few minutes.

They kept a lookout for anything on the drive that pertained to Romania, eastern Europe, and trafficking patterns that weren’t normal for them. It looked like there was some organization loosely affiliated with the Bratva, but not the Bratva themselves, that _someone_ was sending regular payments - _large_ payments - to. Whether it was Zola or Big Barnes or someone else, they couldn’t be sure.

James didn’t know which of those things was more unsettling.

“I think it’s fair to say that we found something pretty major,” Clint said.

“This is extremely time-sensitive,” Natasha agreed. “We have to work quickly before Zola catches on. If you have a plan to do something with this, now’s the time.”

James nodded and pulled out his phone to text Steve.

To: Grant  
_We need to meet. ASAP._

James pocketed his phone and sat down on the sofa. Slowly, the feeling of dread crept into his bones. This wasn’t some small issue that could be fixed with a couple of bullets. The more they found, the more tangled everything became. His family’s legacy had a parasite growing within it, and it made him sick.

They still didn’t know whether Zola was at the top or if there was anyone else, but _someone_ was playing puppeteer with James’ family, and he wasn’t happy about it. At all.

A moment later, he his phone buzzed.

From: Grant  
_I’m at Paddy’s Gym in Red Hook. It’s safe for you._

James very nearly scoffed at that. Red Hook was deep in Irish territory, and never safe for them. But a part of him couldn’t help but trust Steve, despite the century of fighting between their families.

He’d already fucked them over this much, might as well go for the full monty.

“You’re gonna love where we’re about to go,” James said with a sigh.

“Aw, shit,” said Clint.

“Yup.”

 

* * *

 

Steve was having a bad day.

It wasn’t bad because their investigation had turned up empty; it was bad because it had turned up flush with information.

It was bad because his family business was rife with corruption.

Pierce and Rumlow were both working for someone else, funneling Rogers money and resources to places they had no business being...like eastern Europe. If Steve was comfortable with the lifestyle he was involved in, he might’ve been upset about them being traitors. He might’ve taken it personally, or even gone to his father with his findings.

But he couldn’t do that, and therein lay the problem. Father Joe wouldn’t hear a word against them, and insisted they were nothing but the most loyal of men, despite neither being Irish born and bred, much less being Rogers. Pierce and Rumlow were so far up Father Joe’s ass he didn’t even care they weren’t family, which was unheard of. But there he was, fucking over his own people and not even knowing it.

Steve didn’t know what to do, and he hated it.

So there he was, wrapping his hands in preparation to punch something. It wouldn’t solve anything, but it would make him feel better.

He finished wrapping and slid his gloves on. He took his stance in front of the punching bag, and started jabbing. After a few hits, he got a feel for the weight and resistance of the bag before setting a brutal pace. Punch after punch, his muscle memory did the work for him, and the meditation set in. The adrenaline surged and his mind cleared of everything until there was just the rhythm of his punching and the dull thuds that echoed through the empty room.

Steve planned to box until he tired himself out, until he was too exhausted to do anything but give James the files and then fall into an empty sleep. But after only a few minutes, right when he was working up a good sweat and starting to reach his forte, he was interrupted.

There were some voices in the background, slight arguing, but Steve didn’t take notice of that. What made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up was the immediate absence of those voices, like everyone had left, but there was still someone watching him.

Steve turned around, prepared to take a swing, when the figure in the shadows emerged. He stared at James, fists still raised in defense, and James stared back. Steve lowered his arm, and James stepped forward, eyes roving over Steve, and licked his lips.

Steve glared back. “That was fast.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” James said, very obviously not sorry at all. “But time isn’t on our side right now.”

Steve sighed deep and felt another wave of aggression crash over him, so he turned back to his sandback. “Nothing’s on our side,” he growled, punching the bag a few more times.

“We’re on our side.”

“Fuck-load of good that’s doing us.”

Steve kept swinging, settling back into a rhythm. James took a few more steps until he was right beside Steve, staring at him hard.

“It’s bad. Like, _real bad._ They keep underestimating us, and that’s a good thing. Not so good when _you_ do it. We’ll fix it.”

Steve hit the sandbag harder. “Oh, right. Winter Soldier’s gonna come in and ‘fix’ everything. More bodies at our feet, just what we need.”

“Didn’t know the sainted Captain America was such an asshole,” James said with a clenched jaw and raging eyes.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call me Winter Soldier.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

James let out a humorless laugh. “Do you not even hear yourself? You are such a fucking hypocrite. Just like your dear old dad.”

Steve’s next swing was at James. In between one target and the next, he shook the gloves off his hands. James easily ducked and dodged, but stepped back until he hit the wall and was pinned in by Steve.

“Take it back,” Steve growled.

“I’ll take it back when it stops being true,” spat James. “In one breath you talk about how his single-mindedness is the ruin of your family, and in the next you do the same fucking thing.”

Steve felt the reality of that like a kick to the gut. “I’m _not_ like him.”

James looked him square in the eye. “No? Prove it.”

Steve was so enraged he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except let his body talk for him. He pushed James back against the wall, crowding him in, pinning his shoulders against the wall, and then-

And then James arched up and kissed him angrily. It was passion and war and bitten lips and gasping breaths. Steve responded angrily, hungrily, and his entire world narrowed in on James Barnes.

This was the man born to be his enemy. This was the man who could be running a con on Steve for his own gain. This was the man who had shown Steve a different self entirely and then taken it away. Steve’s anger flared, and he ripped James’ jacket off his shoulders and pulled his shirt away. They were pressed bare chest to bare chest, and James was feeling every inch of Steve’s muscles that he could.

Steve pulled back, and at the surprised look James gave him, sank to his knees. He undid the belt buckle in front of him, and shoved both pants and boxer briefs to James’ ankles. His hard cock bobbed free, and Steve swallowed it down in one go. He pulled back, using his tongue on the underside, and set a steady pace of deepthroats and almost pulling off until James was a quivering mess above him.

Steve grabbed James by the hips and turned him around, reaching up to shove on James’ back until the man was face first against the wall with a grunt. Steve grabbed James’ ass cheeks, spread them apart, and dove in. He tongued at the rim in alternating paces, going light and teasing sometimes and deep others, tongue-fucking James until he was loose and pliant. James was growling steadily against the wall, quiet at first and then shouting at Steve.

“Fuck, FUCK! You fucking asshole, just FUCK ME ALREADY, Jesus FUCKING-”

“Not gonna fuck you without a condom,” Steve answered with a hard slap on James’ ass.

“Jacket pocket, you sadistic fucki-”

Steve cut James off by sliding two fingers into his ass and brushing his prostate. James moaned and canted his hips back, and Steve fumbled with the jacket on the ground next to him until he found what he was after.

“Condom _and_ lube? You’re better prepared than a goddamn boy scout,” Steve said, and added more pressure to his ministrations.

“Nghhh,” replied James.

Steve tapped on each of James’ legs to get him to lift, and then pulled off pants, shoes, socks, until James was completely naked. Steve stood and shoved his sweats down to his hips, and opened the wrapper and slid the condom onto himself. He tore open the packet of lube and smeared it down James’ ass and his own cock, and braced himself.

“Oh my _god,_ hurry up before we die of old age,” James complained.

Steve grabbed him by the hips and spun him around, kissing him to shut him up. Then Steve gripped James’ thighs and picked him up. James gasped against his mouth and wrapped his legs around Steve’s hips and his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

“Can’t die of old age if you get us killed first,” Steve panted and lined himself up.

“I’m gonna kill you myself if you don’t-”

Steve pushed inside of James, and yeah, he was a big fan of shutting James up like this. James moaned and gripped Steve’s shoulders hard with one hand and tangled the other in Steve’s short hair, tugging a little. Steve’s hips snapped harder, and James’ head tipped back against the wall.

They moved against each other; Steve rolled his hips up and James ground his down. All of Steve’s frustration flowed through him like a conduit and spurred him on, and he was thrusting deeper, biting harder, moaning louder than he normally would have. James would be littered with bruises in a few hours, and the thought just made Steve want to mark him more. No matter what the Russians did or said, they couldn’t take Steve’s marks away from James’ body.

And that was it, wasn’t it? The Russians had taken so much from his family, but Steve was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was finding someone he connected with instantly, whose soul spoke to his in an inexplicable way, and then having that someone ripped from him. The Russians had taken Bucky away, and Steve wanted him back.

His thrusts gentled, and he gasped into James’ neck when the other man clenched around him. Steve buried himself inside James as far as he would go, savoring the feeling. He’d been working with James to figure things out, and he had caught glimpses of Bucky: the easy humor, the sparkling eyes, the crooked smile. Bucky was so beautiful without the cold cruelty of the Winter Soldier...he was warm like sunshine, and Steve _needed him back._

Steve slung an arm around James’ back, pulling him even closer, and did a slow grind inside of him. Steve rested their foreheads together and stared into those gray-blue eyes that were widened in shock.

“Not gonna let them hurt you,” he promised with a whisper. “Be my Bucky, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

James’ eyes stayed on his. “Steve,” he gasped quietly.

Steve leaned in and kissed his cheek, again and again. “I mean it, Buck. I take care of what’s mine.”

Steve tilted his hips and did another slow grind that left Bucky gasping again. Bucky clung to him for dear life, and Steve vowed that he would give him whatever he needed. Just as long as Bucky didn’t leave him again.

“I can’t, I have to be James…” Bucky protested weakly.

“And how’s that working out for you so far?” Steve asked, and started slow, shallow thrusts.

“Not...ah!...awesome.”

“So try something new. We’ve gotta shake things up, anyway.” Steve thrust longer and deeper, and Bucky nodded wordlessly.

Steve kissed him, syrupy-sweet and full of desire. None of the earlier animosity was present, and with each kiss Steve silently promised Bucky as much safety and health and happiness as he could provide.

They were as close as two people could get, and Bucky kept pulling Steve even closer. Their bodies rubbed together and Bucky’s cock, stuck in between them, was twitching regularly and leaking steadily. Steve sucked more marks into Bucky’s skin, claiming him for the world to see.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve said, fucking him as if his life depended on it. And hell, maybe it did. “Gonna come for me? Gonna show them you belong to someone else now, someone who gives you everything you need?” Bucky moaned brokenly and his cock twitched hard. “Everything you ever wanted?” Bucky gasped and clawed at Steve’s back. “Someone who’s gonna give you all the love and happiness you deserve? Because you _do_ deserve it, and I’m gonna give it to you. Because you’re my Bucky.”

Bucky opened his eyes and locked gazes with Steve. “I’m your Bucky,” he whispered.

Steve’s orgasm came roaring up. “Say it again,” he pleaded.

Bucky’s cock jerked and flooded their stomachs with come. “I’m your Bucky!”

Steve’s pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave.

They managed to slump to the ground on their jellied legs, and Steve held Bucky close for a few minutes. Steve’s back was to the wall and Bucky curled around him, listening to his heartbeat. Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky hummed softly before lifting his head to look at Steve.

“You know...you were right. You’re nothing like him.”

Steve stroked Bucky’s face. “You sure about that?”

Bucky leaned in to kiss him, slow and sweet. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Steve smiled, and Bucky smiled back. Not James, but _Bucky,_ with his warm eyes and crooked grin. Steve’s heart skipped a beat, and he promised himself that _nothing_ was going to take Bucky away from him.

Not ever again.


	7. Council of War

Steve and Bucky put themselves to rights, which for Bucky meant getting completely dressed and for Steve simply pulling his sweatpants up and unwrapping his hands. They looked at each other for a moment, and Steve leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Steve said. “We’re gonna make it okay.” Bucky nodded silently. Steve retrieved his shirt from the back of a chair and slid it on before asking, “Where is everyone?”

Bucky smirked at him. “Sent them away until we came for them.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Needed some time to have you to myself.”

“I knew it, you were planning to get fucked the whole time!”

Bucky stared at him like he’d grown three heads. “Well, yeah. You were _boxing._ And _shirtless._ And _sweaty._ ”

Steve grinned at him proudly. “Noted.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a dork. Let’s go find the others.”

The others were outside guarding the doors, stances both protective and aggressive. Natasha and Peggy eyed each other warily, while Clint seemed to have a grudging respect for Dum-Dum’s mustache.

Peggy eyed them shrewdly. “If you two are done liaising, we’ve work to do.”

Steve nodded, and they all headed inside. There weren’t enough chairs in the whole gym for all of them, and they looked around. Clint had climbed into the boxing ring just for shits and giggles, and the rest of them shrugged and climbed in too.

They sat in a circle, all vantage points covered, nobody able to make any moves without at least one person seeing. It was good and made Bucky relax a little next to him. The seven of them sitting in a circle in the middle of his boxing ring, laptops open and eyeing each other warily wasn’t exactly the sort of thing Steve would’ve expected. It looked more like a study group than people who had at least a mild interest in killing each other.

Once they were settled, Steve cleared his throat and spoke. “You all know why we’re here. We agreed to carry out a joint investigation and that means that we have to share our intel if we have any hope of fixing this mess.”

He nodded at Peggy, who was typing on her laptop. She pressed a few more keys, and turned the computer around so the rest could see.

Peggy gestured to the screen. “We’ve found evidence of some rather suspicious actions,” she said, tapping open a document. A spreadsheet came up detailing the finances of the Rogers family over the last year. Several rows were highlighted, and Peggy called attention to them. “For starters, we discovered a significant portion of our funds being funneled to parts of the world in which we do not do business.”

Bucky nodded. “Sounds familiar.”

“This is only the beginning. Each of our accounts have money missing with no trace of where it went....aside from these spreadsheets that we found on Alexander Pierce’s personal computer.”

“This is the guy who brokers your deals?” Natasha asked with eyes narrowed on the screen.

“Among other things,” Steve replied. “He’s one of my father’s top lieutenants. He sources money and assets, makes problems disappear, bribes local law enforcement. Everything unsavory that helps us achieve what we want.”

Bucky frowned and hummed. He didn’t make any further comment, and Steve didn’t press. Peggy continued.

“We’ve also found several private purchases that were made using our resources. Much of this is practical supplies: weapons, rations, armor, and the like. However, a significant portion simply disappears. We have reason to believe that this money is being sent to an entity outside of our organization. Furthermore, we’ve found lists of contacts which we were able to confirm are fellow members of this other organization. It includes other members of both the Rogers family…and yours.”

Bucky, Clint, and Natasha shared a look lacking surprise. It was enough to confirm Steve’s suspicion that they had found something similar.

“Lastly, this shadow organization is responsible for what seems to the growth of a violent far-right group in several other major cities in the country,” she replied.

There was a moment of silence while they all processed this information. Bucky clenched his jaw and said stiffly, “So not only are they getting money and resources through us, _using us,_ they’re also using them to recruit members who are sympathetic to their ideology.”

“Sure seems so,” Steve agreed.

“Huh. Would’ve thought that you Catholics would’ve had fewer issues with conservative politics,” Clint said.

Steve glared at him. “Some of us have better values than the others. And there are enough shitty people in the world, we don’t need to add any more.”

“I’ll fucking drink to that,” Clint agreed.

Peggy turned her computer back around. All eyes turned to the Russians as Natasha fiddled with her computer before facing it towards them as Peggy had done.

“We found similar data in our organization,” Bucky announced. “However, where you have data about what the money was buying, we found information about where it went. We tracked the information to a German group called Hydra.”

“Like from the monster in Greek mythology?” Steve asked.

“Yup. Stupid name if you ask me, but I’m not the one in charge. Which is good, considering that this group seems to be organized and run by actual Nazis.”

“ _Nazis?_ Jesus, the last thing they need to be doing is to be starting a mob,” Steve said.

“Well, that’s exactly what they’ve been up to. They’ve installed sleeper agents in multiple organizations across the country, quietly building an empire.”

With that, Natasha closed the laptop. There was a heavy silence while everyone processed the information that had been shared. Steve and Bucky looked at each other, and Steve’s heart clenched at the cold, calculating expression on Bucky’s face.

“So,” Natasha said, breaking the silence. “Now what?”

Peggy tilted her head in consideration. “We can’t just sit on this information. Sooner or later, these people will find a reason to get rid of us when we stop being useful to them. Most likely sooner.”

Bucky clenched his jaw again. “I don’t know about Pierce, but Zola will eventually find out what we’re doing, what we’ve already done.”

“What do you propose?” Steve asked.

“Pierce and Zola have to be dealt with,” Natasha said. “We either kill them or use this information as leverage to make sure they can’t come after us. I know which one I prefer.”

“You want to kill them?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” she replied. Her voice was as hard and unfeeling as steel. “Not just them, everyone they’re associated with. But it’s entirely likely that our families are roped into this as well.”

 _“What?”_ Steve demanded.

“Think about it. Zola and Pierce appeared out of nowhere almost a decade ago. Now they’re both working directly under the two most powerful family heads in the borough. Not only that, but rather than destroy the records of their work, they’ve kept it under lock and key. That means that someone knows about it who’s superior to them, and those possibilities are very, very small.”

Steve glared at her before he turned to Bucky. “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you agree?”

Bucky paused for a moment before he nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “My father has been taken with Zola ever since he showed up.”

Steve straightened his spine and crossed his arms. Unfortunately, his father was in a similar state. Pierce had bought Father Joe’s favor with a few honeyed words and a couple lucrative deals. The idea that Father Joe would be so taken with that kind of person wasn’t hard to believe. He could turn a blind eye to almost anything as long as it increased profit.

“This is all fascinating and important,” Dum-Dum interjected, breaking an uncharacteristic silence. “But aren’t we forgetting something?”

The room was quiet for a moment while they looked at Dum-Dum expectantly. He sighed laboriously.

“We need to know who was behind that explosion,” he said. “Did anyone happen to find any concrete evidence of that?”

Sam also broke his observational silence. “He’s right. Unless we can find some definitive evidence of that, no one will be able to take the fall for it.”

Peggy’s face lit up and she started searching through files on her computer. “Actually, there was some information about a heist being pulled around the date and time the explosion happened,” she announced. A few seconds later, she pulled up a memo detailing what was happening the day of the explosion.

“Pierce signed off on it,” Steve aid. “That’s his signature.”

“Hang on,” Natasha said. She reopened her own computer and pulled up a document. “This one is similar, but it details the plan. I didn’t think much of it because there wasn’t a time or date mentioned, and kill orders aren’t exactly unusual.”

Steve scanned the document. It mentioned several things, but the most notable was the location and the targets to be eliminated by someone called-

“Who’s the Asset?” Steve asked.

Bucky swallowed thickly. “That’d be me. It’s a code. If something needs taken care of, they mention having other assets and suddenly, I’m the one taking care of it.”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered.

“Yeah, good times, huh?” Bucky replied dryly, scanning the memo. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who Captain is referring to.”

Steve nodded. “Looks like they were hoping that one of us would kill the other and then the explosion would either kill whoever was left.”

Natasha hummed. “Zola’s files conveniently contain some kind of ‘evidence’. I assume to incriminate whichever one emerged victorious from their little gladiator ring. Both of you surviving probably threw a wrench in their plans.”

Peggy drummed her fingers on the top edge of her screen.“Since we have evidence that this group and major players in the families are behind the explosion, we need to decide what to do with that information.”

“Killing them is always an option,” Natasha said. “But at this point, it doesn’t look like it would do much.”

Steve thought for a moment. No matter which way he sliced it, they didn’t have the resources to really fix this problem. Not in a way that would ensure a permanent solution.

“We could take it to the cops,” he said at last. Everyone stared at him.

“You wanna run that by us again?” Bucky asked.

“We take this information to the officials,” Steve repeated. “We give it to them, let them know what they want to know, and let them pass the rest of the information through legitimate channels.”

“You’re willing to betray everything we’ve ever known, throw our families under the bus, and walk away?” Bucky asked quietly.

“You know as well as I do that nothing about this life is right. This is our chance to actually do something good for a change.”

Bucky closed in on himself, just a little, and Steve’s face softened. He knew this wasn’t easy. He’d be sentencing what could be his entire family to prison, knowing he’d never be forgiven. He was willing to do that, though. But did he really have the right to ask Bucky to pay such a price?

Steve cleared his throat. “Can we get a minute? Alone?”

“So that’s how it is?” Sam asked, staring at where Steve had apparently twined his hand with Bucky’s, setting on Bucky’s knee.

“Yeah. That’s how it is.”

Sam sighed and shook his head before standing up. He offered his hands to Dum-Dum and Peggy as well.

Both his friends and Bucky’s filed out until Steve was left alone with this man, this beautiful, kind man who was remarkably like himself in more than just their familial roles.

“Bucky,” Steve said softly. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

Bucky looked up sharply and glared at him. “And what would you have me do, exactly?” he demanded.

Steve swallowed. “You could leave,” he said. “Take your friends and get out of here. I’d tell the police that you helped us retrieve the intel.”

“You really think they would agree to give us immunity if they found out that we’d skipped town?” Bucky scoffed. “Come on, Rogers, thought you were smarter than that.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Steve replied. “I know how hard this is.”

Bucky looked like he was about to snap, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed and turned to lean his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” he replied. “I just...I didn’t think that I would have to decide this soon. You must think that I’m real stupid for not planning ahead.”

Steve shook his head, and slowly, James looked up at him. He looked… lost and maybe a little afraid.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Steve replied. “I think you’re brave for doing this much already.”

“Don’t patronize me. I get that enough, don’t need it from you, too.”

“I’m not patronizing you,” Steve replied. “You could’ve done nothing. You could’ve gone back to your family, told them what I wanted you to do, and they would’ve praised you.”

“They would’ve had me take you out,” James added. “They would’ve tried their hardest to kill you.”

“My family has similar motivations towards you,” Steve replied. “Anyway, my point is that you could’ve done the safe thing, but you didn’t.”

Steve’s eyes roamed Bucky from his face to his body and the tattoo sleeve poking out from beneath the shirt on his left arm.

“You never told me if there was some meaning behind this tattoo,” Steve said, stroking the skin.

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment before shifting to fully face him. His right index finger started where the tattoos started at his wrist.

“So, I’m the Winter Soldier, right?” Bucky asked. “The thorns represent that,” he said trailing his fingers up his arm. When he reached one of the roses, he stopped. “The roses represent the people I love: Natasha, Clint, and my sister.”

“Didn’t know you had a sister,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. “She’s in college now,” he said. “Working on getting away from all this. I helped her get away since the only one of us my father ever cared about was me. I’m the heir, after all.”

“What about Natasha?” Steve asked.

“Natasha. Natalia. She and I go by different names sometimes when we’re with people who aren’t part of our world.”

“Like you’re Bucky,” Steve said. James nodded and Steve looked down at James’ tattoo. “I really like Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his hand kept moving. The thorns and flowers continued until Bucky pulled the sleeve of his shirt back to reveal the cardinal on his shoulder.

“This is me,” he said. “How even though it’s winter, I find a way to survive.”

“It’s beautiful,” Steve replied. “Just like you.”

“What, beautiful?” Bucky scoffed. “If you’re trying to get in my pants again, I’m not really in the mood at the moment.”

“I meant I think you’re a survivor, jerk!” Steve said. “That’s why I said you could leave. You could get out of here, like your sister, make a new life for yourself...you’d never have to look back or worry about what’s coming. Just take your friends and get out of here.”

Bucky sighed. “Steve, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but that’s not gonna happen,” he said.

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” Steve demanded.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Because I’m not gonna let you deal with this shit on your own, punk. I said I’d help you, and I keep my word. I’m in it with you, alright? ‘Til the end of the line, wherever that is.”

Steve paused, before nodding with finality. “Alright, ‘til the end of the line.”

Steve searched his face before smiling, a matching one starting to break out on Bucky’s face as well. It was a real, genuine smile that made his whole face into something softer and gentler, and Steve was helplessly drawn to it. He found himself leaning in and meeting Bucky in a kiss that started chaste and deepened into something darker and sweeter, like chocolate.

“So,” Bucky began once they’d broken apart, “the police.”

“Yup,” Steve replied.

“Look at us criminals, being upstanding citizens and all that,” James smirked.

Steve shrugged before grinning himself. “Bound to happen every once in a blue moon.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how I do,” James chuckled dryly. “Ain’t exactly got a lot of experience at this whole do-gooder thing.”

“You’re a good man in my book,” Steve replied.

“I don’t know about that. Not sure about you, but I’ve got a lot of things to atone for.”

“Well you know what they say,” Steve shrugged, “there’s no time like the present.”

“I guess we’re going to find out if they’re right. But I don’t know if the police are the best people to go to. They’re slow and there’s too many of them on our families’ payrolls.

Steve heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you might be right.”

“So, what do we do?”

“...You ever heard of District Attorney Carol Danvers?”

“Yeah, she’s been trying to build a RICO case on us for years.”

Steve nodded. “Us too. What about Tony Stark?”

Bucky scoffed. “Everyone knows Tony. Where is this leading?”

Steve thought hard for a moment and nervously bit the inside of his cheek. “I have an idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RICO (aka Organized Crime Control Act of 1970): 'The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, commonly referred to as the RICO Act or simply RICO, is a United States federal law that provides for extended criminal penalties and a civil cause of action for acts performed as part of an ongoing criminal organization.' - Wikipedia


	8. Into That Good Night

Steve changed back into his regular clothes, and he and Bucky emerged from Paddy’s Gym to their friends waiting impatiently. Steve explained his idea, and though it put everyone on edge, they grudgingly agreed it was the best course of action. Natasha handed Bucky a flash drive with all the information from both investigations, and he slipped it into his pocket.

Steve and Bucky would go see Tony Stark, and the rest would lay low and keep their ears to the ground. They dispersed, and Steve and Bucky needed a way to get to Williamsburg.

“Should we call a cab or Lyft or something?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head and slipped his hand into Bucky’s. “Nah. Got a better idea, not too far from here. C’mon.”

They walked from Red Hook to Brooklyn Heights, talking the whole way. They fell back into the rhythm of that first night, when they were Grant and Bucky and free of the criminal life, free to be their most genuine selves. They talked and teased and laughed and for a while they forgot that they were on a high-stakes mission. It was a beautiful reprieve from the extreme stress of the last several days, and Bucky felt like he could breathe easier with each step. Being with Steve, just _being_ with Steve, felt good and right.

He imagined them doing mundane things together, like walking a dog, or going to the museum, or even - god help him - grocery shopping. (James Barnes had never willingly set foot in a grocery store but Bucky could be persuaded under the right circumstances.) The quiet domesticity made him yearn deep in his chest for a life of normality. Steve promised him that they’d get there, and Bucky found himself willing to fight tooth and nail for it.

They came to a stop outside of a building, well-cared for and lovingly renovated. Steve led him through an alley and around back to the building where there a few bikes and mopeds were parked. Steve pulled the cover off of the big one in the corner, and revealed a gleaming blue Harley-Davidson.

All Bucky could do was stare.

Steve wheeled the thing over to the alley and straddled the seat. “You okay there, pal?”

“Huh,” said Bucky.

Steve reached out and pulled Bucky close. “You like my bike?”

Bucky swallowed and tried to gather his last few remaining brain cells to form a response. Steve’s muscular thighs stretched his jeans obscenely and the raw confidence he exuded just being on the bike drew Bucky to him like a moth to a flame.

“Let’s just say this Harley isn’t the only thing I’ll be riding tonight,” Bucky promised against Steve’s lips. Steve grinned and gave him a kiss flush with promise. Bucky sighed happily and straddled the motorcycle, thoroughly enjoying getting to hold Steve close.

The ride to Williamsburg felt like breaking free, and Bucky couldn’t wait until they’d completed their missions and could actually be okay. If everything went well, that would be in just a few more hours.

Steve pulled the Harley into the driveway of an old industrial building that had been renovated and painted a deep red. Tony’s voice crackled over the intercom at the gate.

_“Do mine eyes deceive me or is that not one, but both prodigal sons of the Brooklyn mafiosos?”_

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know full well neither of our families are that big.”

“Or Italian,” Bucky added.

 _“What’s this? A Rogers and a Barnes agreeing? Interesting,”_ Tony sniffed. _“My day was boring but you might salvage it yet. Guess you’d better come inside.”_

The gate buzzed and swung open, and Steve slowly pulled up the short drive. They stood from the Harley and Bucky immediately missed the close contact from Steve, and felt a shiver course through his body.

At the door, Tony greeted them in nothing but Candyland-printed boxer briefs, a black silken robe with a peacock on the back, and sunglasses that he very well may have stolen from Elton John. He waved them inside and raised his eyebrows when Steve placed his hand on the small of Bucky’s back as they crossed the threshold.

“Huh. That’s new,” Tony commented.

Bucky pulled the flash drive from his pocket and tossed it to Tony. “It’s not the only interesting development.”

Tony gasped theatrically as he caught the drive. “Did you bring me treats?”

Steve bobbed his head in consideration. “Something like that.”

They settled in the living room and Tony plugged the drive into is computer and they watched as the wall of monitors blinked to life, displaying the information.

“So,” Steve started, “We’ve found some-”

Tony shushed him. “Let them tell me the story. They’ll do it better.”

Bucky bit back a laugh and settled into the plush sofa. Steve grudgingly sat back and threaded his fingers with Bucky’s, lightly stroking the skin of Bucky’s hand with his thumb. It made Bucky break out into goosebumps, and he marvelled at what a simple touch like that from Steve could do. While they were waiting, Bucky mulled over the possibilities of what Tony might be able to do.

Tony spent several minutes flipping through the files, at first muttering to himself, then swearing creatively, and then settled into a raging silence.

“So,” he said, turning back to Steve and Bucky, “looks like we’ve got a little Nazi problem.”

“Looks like,” Steve agreed.

“This Hydra bullshit...they’ve gotta go.”

“Yup.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Bucky took a breath. “Well, I think we should tie everything up together, and separate it out.”

Tony gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. “What.”

“Tie the Hydra shit from both our families together, tie our families finances and businesses together, and pull the Hydra from it.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the edge of his chair. “Could...could fuck with their money. Move all the contaminated accounts into a central location, easy pickin’s for the Feds. Consolidate the family funds and scrub them clean.”

“Yes, exactly. But not just the money.”

Steve and Tony both looked at him. “What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I mean, this is the chance we’ve always wanted, right? To take things legitimate? So we take all the money, and the guns and weapons and drugs or whatever the hell we have that’s dirty, and we give it all to Hydra. Let them take the fall. We pull the dirty money from KGBar and your pub and we go straight.”

“What about all the money that’s in there? We’re sitting on...millions, probably, and I bet you are, too.”

Tony interjected. “Set up a fund. A charitable foundation. Funds can be donated completely anonymously. We can invest it to turn over an annual interest that will keep the children and families in Brooklyn healthy and happy for a long, long time.”

Bucky nodded, and Steve’s eyes sparkled with hope. “So...we could help people, without the bloodshed. The fighting would be over.”

Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest and he reached over to give Steve’s arm a gentle squeeze. “No more fighting. It’ll carry on forever if we don’t do this, if we don’t make it impossible to tell who’s who. We’re all Brooklynites, in the end. We take care of our own, just like you said, and our own is everyone.”

Steve looked at Bucky with stars in his eyes, and said to Tony without looking away, “Do it.”

Tony gave a lazy salute and started clacking away on his keyboard. “Say, while I’m in here playing Wreck-It Ralph with your family histories, do you want me to do some patching up? Finally get D.A. Danvers off your backs?”

“No,” Steve said. “We’re gonna need her. Money and guns aren’t the only dirty things we’re clearing out.”

“Roger that,” Tony said, and laughed at his own stupid joke.

They sat quietly for a while when a thought occurred to Bucky. “Tony, you haven’t stated your price. _And_ you offered to help with Danvers. What’s the catch?”

Tony stopped his typing and turned to look Bucky square in the eye. “Those Nazi bastards? They killed my father. He may have been a son of a bitch, but he was _my_ son of a bitch, y’know? Been trying to take them down ever since, but they’re like a bunch of ghosts. Never had enough to do anything ‘til now. So not only will I not charge you a _dime_ , I will help you any and every way I can.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony waved him off and went back to work. “Be a dear and order some pizza. This is gonna take a little bit.”

They ordered the pizza and enjoyed the calm before the storm as best they could from Tony’s plush sofa. While Tony worked, Bucky became restless with the uncertainty. Sure, Steve was right next to him, solid and immovable as always, but what came next? What happens after the dust cleared, if they actually managed to pull this thing off?

“Steve…”

“Hm?”

“What...do we do? After?”

Steve looked at him curiously and stroked the back of his hand. “After we fix things?”

“Yeah, what then?” Bucky lip nervously.

“Well, I figured we might try this thing for real. You and me. Just Steve and Bucky, two guys helping people. No fighting, no blood feuds. Just us.”

“Really?”

“‘Course. I told you I’m with you, right? Tony’s making it so we have a shot. There’s no more ‘us’ and ‘them.’ You belong to me now, and I belong to you. That’s all there is to it.”

The steadfast earnestness in Steve’s voice settled the dark uncertainty in Bucky’s chest, and he curled up against Steve. “Sounds perfect.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

Two hours, sixteen minutes, and four pizzas later, Tony handed Bucky a new flash drive.

“That’s got everything Danvers needs...and quite a bit more.”

“More?”

“...I may have thrown in some surprises. Point is, you get this to her, you’re golden.”

Bucky tipped his head in appreciation and zipped the flash drive into the inner breast pocket of his jacket.

Tony ruffled his wayward hair and snapped his fingers. “Also! You’ll need a place to lay low while Danvers does her thing, cuz there are potential leaks _everywhere._ And as much as I hate to admit to having feelings, I ship you two-” he waved a finger between Steve and Bucky “- and I’m a sucker for star-crossed lovers. So, get this to Danvers, and come on home. My security system will fry anyone who gets too close, so you’ll be safe here. Then you can figure the rest out in the morning.”

Steve set a hand on Tony’s shoulder and looked at him with gravitas. “Tony. Thank you.”

Tony waved them off. “Shoo. I need a nap. Go get your happy ending.”

 

* * *

 

The sun was starting to set as they made their way over to Boerum Hill. Both men knew where D.A. Danvers lived, as a matter of interest to their families. Steve had never been comfortable knowing any personal information about Danvers, but now he was glad of it.

They had exited the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and were driving down Flatbush Avenue when the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood up. Bucky tapped his arm and leaned in.

“We got a tail, maybe two.”

“Yeah.”

Steve took evasive action and turned down corner after corner, trying to lose the tails. For a minute he thought he’d been successful, until one of the black SUVs turned a corner and came right at them.

Steve took a hard corner and another SUV came from a cross street and nearly blocked them in, but he pushed the Harley harder and they made it. Gunshots ricocheted off the building next to them.

“Jesus Christ! Which is it do you think?” Bucky shouted behind him.

“Dunno, could be either! Maybe both!” Steve shouted back, and took another sharp turn.

“Well fuck this!” Bucky said, and pulled a gun out and started shooting back, taking out the front passenger tire of one of the SUVs. It swerved and crashed into a brick wall.

Steve drove defensively as best he could, trying to out-maneuver the ever-growing number of black SUVs.

“Feel like it’s both!” he shouted to Bucky.

“Yup!”

One of the SUVs pulled up alongside the Harley and a rear door opened. Rumlow threw himself out of the vehicle and onto Bucky, knocking the both of them off of the Harley and onto the rough street below. Steve’s heart plummeted and he pulled a harsh turnaround.

Rumlow was above Bucky, gun pointed point-blank at Bucky’s forehead. Steve pushed the Harley as hard as it would go and reached out, grabbing Rumlow by the back of his shirt and dragging him off of Bucky. Steve braked hard and the Harley slid sideways and he jumped off, tucking into roll as Rumlow bounced off of the asphalt.

Rumlow looked up at him as Steve approached. “You’re a blood traitor,” he spat, and raised his gun.

Lightning-fast, Steve reached out and grabbed Rumlow’s gun and pistol-whipped him with it. “Hard to be a blood traitor when we don’t share the same blood. And you know what? If we _did,_ I probably would be a traitor. I’d never stand with the likes of you."

Rumlow laughed harshly. “Always so self-righteous, Rogers. Do us all a favor and shut the fu-”

Rumlow fell sideways, a bloodstain blossoming across his chest.

“Man, fuck that guy,” said Bucky, some feet away with his pistol raised.

Another SUV roared to a stop nearby, and a mean, brutish looking man barreled out of the back, guns blazing.

He shouted something in Russian, took aim at Steve, and Bucky dropped him with another single bullet.  

“Fuck him, too?” Steve asked, getting the Harley up on its kickstand.

“Especially him. Been wantin’ to do that for _years.”_

Two more SUVs pulled up, and several men opened the doors, used them as shields, and pointed guns at the pair of them. Out of the last SUV emerged Father Joe and Pierce.

A car pulled up from the alley behind them, and Dum-Dum and Natasha filed out, various weapons armed and ready. They came to stand behind Steve and Bucky, guarding their backs. Natasha looked him in the eye and quirked an eyebrow to the rooftop above them. Steve could just barely see Clint’s blond hair and the frame of a recurve bow. Across the street and behind Father Joe, Sam silently waited in an alley and tipped his head towards them. Steve felt pride and gratefulness well in his chest.

“Steven!” Father Joe said harshly. “What the hell is all this? You consorting with Russians?”

“Better Russians than Nazis,” Steve shot back.

“Excuse me? You belong to my house. What gives you the right-”

“You have _NO IDEA_ who’s in your house!” Steve shouted. Father Joe’s steps faltered.

“Watch your tongue, boy, I am your father and leader.”

“Then maybe you should start _acting_ like it.”

“Now, now,” came Pierce’s slimy voice. “Let’s not be unreasonable. Steven, show your father some respect.”

“And you!” Steve said, rounding on Pierce. “Stealing from my family, brainwashing my father, taking advantage of us to further your own hateful agenda.”

Pierce sighed laboriously and turned to Father Joe. “I was worried this is what would happen. He’s started spending too much time with the Russian, it’s twisted his mind.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Father Joe said, eyeing Bucky with loathing. “He’s gone even softer. What’s this? You’ve made friends with the enemy, how sweet.” He gestured to Pierce, who pulled a pistol from his blazer.

Everyone went on high alert, especially Steve. The world narrowed to just the barrel of Pierce’s gun, and the irrefutable fact that he was too far away from Pierce to do anything, too far away from Bucky to do anything. His eyes widened in horror, his stomach dropped, and he felt cold dread shoot through him.

“No…” he whispered. “No, please. I’ll do anything.”

He was terrified to find that he meant it. He’d do _anything_ to keep Bucky safe.

Father Joe’s face twisted in disgust. “Not friends then. You’ve committed the sin of sodomy with the enemy?”

“He’s not the enemy!” Steve shouted angrily. “He’s a _good man,_ something you know nothing about!”

Father Joe shook his head sadly. “I cannot abide this.” To Pierce he said, “Get rid of the Russian. We’ll worry about Steven’s soul later.”

Steve moved as fast as he could, launching himself at Bucky to try to get him out of the way, and the gunshot sounded, and-

Alexander Pierce crumpled to the ground.

Peggy stepped out from behind an SUV, her gun still smoking and pointed towards Pierce. “Absolutely not,” she said. “My father was your friend, and Steve is mine. I’ll not let you treat him in such a way. He is a good, kind soul, and you’ve let yourself be twisted so far you can’t even see it. Well no more. They’re doing a good thing, and you’re going to let it happen.”

Father Joe looked at Peggy, enraged at his loss of control. “The hell I am!”

Two more SUVs rolled up and guns were at the ready once more. Zola and Big Barnes stepped into the fray.

“You see?” Zola said to Big Barnes. “It’s as we feared. Yasha has been comprom-”

Zola fell to the ground quicker and harder than Pierce. Big Barnes shouted something in Russian, and Natasha answered him, gun raised just like Peggy. Her arm swiveled just a fraction to take clear aim at him.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do that since I first met him. And you’ve been good to me, Mr. Barnes, but this is too much. I’ll do what I have to.”

“You won’t,” Big Barnes countered.

Natasha’s aim, eyes, and voice were rock steady. “You wanna take that bet?”

George Barnes cursed, and started yelling at Father Joe in Russian. Father Joe responded in Gaelic, and as the scene turned into a different kind of clusterfuck, Steve grabbed Bucky and pulled him down an alley.

“You okay? How high can you jump?”

“Uh...high enough, I guess. Why?”

Steve launched himself onto the dumpster and onto the nearby roof.

James heaved a sigh from the ground. “Of fucking _course_ you parkour.”

“Can you get up?” Steve asked.

“You’re really not a fan of doing things the easy way, are you?” Bucky asked, then pulled out a set of keys. “C’mon,” he said, and Steve grudgingly returned to the ground. They snuck to the adjacent alley where Natasha and Dum-Dum’s car was waiting.

Bucky slipped into the driver seat and Steve into the passenger, and Bucky started the car and slowly backed out of the alley.

The drive the rest of the way to Boerum Hill was tense, like they were just waiting to be attacked again. It was almost anticlimactic, when they double-parked in front of Danvers’ brownstone, and knocked on the door without any trouble at all.

Danvers opened the door and closed it partly again when she saw who it was. It was startling to see her without her power suits; she looked remarkably normal with her messy hair, Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, and yoga pants.

“District Attorney Danvers,” Steve greeted.

“We’ve been over this, fellas. I’m not dropping those RICO cases. Learn to take a hint.”

“We don’t want you to drop them. We want to help you,” Bucky said, pulling out the flash drive.

“What is this?” She asked with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

“Everything you need to move against the bad guys. And it’s probably just one RICO case now.”

"You'd go against your own families?"

Steve looked her dead in the eye. "Their crimes are their own."

Danvers looked at them, and at Bucky’s hand. She took the proffered flash drive and opened the door fully. “You’d better come in, then.”

 

* * *

 

Four hours and thirty-nine minutes later, Bucky and Steve showered and tucked themselves into bed in one of Tony’s overly-luxurious guest suites. The rest of their friends were strewn throughout the building, all safe and sound.

In the morning, they’d wake to the huge news story of D.A. Danvers’ successful execution of a RICO case against Hydra, and several members of the Rogers and Barnes families.

But for now, Steve and Bucky enjoyed the buoyancy that came with absolute freedom for the first time in their lives.

They kissed and smiled and laughed, and Bucky made good on his promise to take Steve for a ride of his own. And if they took their time, if they locked hands and stared into each other’s eyes while Bucky rolled his hips slowly, if they whispered adorations at each other, well, that was no one’s business but their own.

They were finally free to do as they wished.


	9. A Soft Epilogue

The next morning, Bucky awoke in the softest bed he’d ever been in. It was almost like sleeping on a cloud, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

However, something was very wrong with this bed. He reached out with a hand and didn’t find Steve on the other side. He frowned and rolled over to open his eyes. Steve wasn’t there, though the blankets were rumpled from sleep the night before, they were cold.

Before Bucky could get up and investigate, the door opened and Steve walked in with a tray of food like he just stepped out of some cheesy rom-com. Inwardly, Bucky _melted._

Outwardly, he said, “You really take this whole taking care of me seriously,” and propped himself up against the headboard.

“Does it bother you?” Steve asked.

“Not even a little,” Bucky replied, beaming at Steve. “...Unless this is _your_ breakfast.”

Steve just blushed and rolled his eyes. “Eat up,” he said. “We gotta meet Danvers today, and who knows when she’ll call.”

Bucky hummed around a mouthful of toast. “Think we’ll have time to dirty up Tony’s sheets again before we have to leave?”

Steve’s eyes glinted with desire, and he leaned over to kiss Bucky. It was intense yet gentle, just like the previous night’s sex. Bucky sighed into the kiss, still dreamy and incandescent.

“Is that what you need?” Steve asked in a low voice. Bucky shivered.

“Maybe not _need_ ,” Bucky replied as he took a bite of eggs. “Maybe I just want to make sure we… fully appreciate the Tony's hospitality.”

Steve grinned. “I think we can manage that, then,” he replied. “After you eat.”

Bucky hardly tasted the food in his excitement.

One hour and twenty-two minutes later, Steve and Bucky were freshly dressed and ready to head out. They walked hand in hand down to the front door where they were greeted by a set of keys and a post-it note from Tony on the sideboard.

_Thanks for taking out the garbage._

Steve laughed and threw open the door to see his Harley gleaming like new. They walked down the steps to the bike and Steve looked up at Bucky while he sat down.

“So what happens now?” he asked. “Everything’s different.”

“You’re right,” Bucky said. He laid his hand on Steve’s chest. “It’s going to be better.”

“I know one thing,” Steve said. “I don’t want us to end.”

“What was it we said?” Bucky asked. “‘Til the end of the line.’ Don’t think we’ve reached that yet.”

Steve smiled. “‘Til the end of the line, then.”

They sealed it with a kiss, and  it felt like everything in the world was just right. All the worries and fears fled from Bucky’s mind in softness of their touches.

Despite everything, they were going to be alright after all.

They’d make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come Tumble with us!  
> [GoldBlooded](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/)  
> [LeisurelyPanda](https://leisurelypanda.tumblr.com/)  
> [Wilfling](https://thewilfling.tumblr.com/)  
> [Chicklette](https://chicklette.tumblr.com/)


End file.
